Past Regrets
by kaleidopy
Summary: Someone from Paul and Kermit's past returns, and a happy reunion is the last thing on their mind.
1. Chapter 1

I got this idea after visiting Maria's website. There's a section called Episode Trivia, where she lists the episodes and the script changes. In Dragonwing II, Paul told Peter that he had a son who had been killed during a mission overseas. Well, that scene never made it to television, but it got me thinking, what if...

Past Regrets

Kaleidopy

IWashington, D.C. 

The black limousine slowly drove into the underground parking lot and pulled to a stop. Inside, Senator John Matheson, who struggled to hide his triumphant smile, waited patiently as the door opened and two men entered and took their places in the seat across from him. The door slammed shut.

Matheson knew the information he was about to purchase would aid his cause in more ways than one. He waited until the car was in motion before he spoke to the tallest man. "Did you find him?"

"I did, Senator. I promised you results, did I not?" The man snarled, irritated that he had been questioned. He didn't mince words, "The money first."

"You don't come cheap," the Senator commented as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. "It's all here, as you instructed: Swiss bank account, four million in unmarked bills, Mr. Davis. That is, if that's your real name."

"My name is irrelevant, Senator. As far as you are concerned, you can consider me the President of the United States." The man called Davis leaned across the seat, pulled off his sunglasses and glared at the government official. "Let me warn you right now, Matheson, if you even attempt to gather information on me, Amelia Earhart's body will be discovered before yours. Do I make myself clear?"

John Matheson cleared the lump in his throat before nodding. His contact had warned him repeatedly about this man, but his hatred for a certain individual overrode his better judgment. "I understand," he answered nervously, his voice slightly more than a whisper. "Just tell me what you have and let's end this little meeting."

"I'm glad you see it my way." Davis took the paper out of the Senator's hand and read it. Satisfied, he opened his briefcase, pulled out a CD, and gave it to Matheson. "The information you requested is on that disk, including the details of that covert mission sponsored by the CIA several years ago. I can understand the reason behind your friends' motives for not telling you the outcome. According to them, you'd sell your own mother out for a dollar."

"Keep your snide remarks to yourself, Davis," the Senator snapped, glaring at the person who had dared to insult his intelligence. He carefully inserted the CD into his laptop and began reading the information he had paid a small fortune to acquire. "Rykker and Griffin are Blaisdell's cronies and his…Yes! It's here!" he shouted ecstatically when the information he had been seeking appeared on the laptop's screen. "And speaking of Blaisdell, he's going to be very upset when he learns his son wasn't killed like he was lead to believe by those he trusted most."

"Michael has his own plan on how to tell his father that news," Davis stated. "If you value your life, you will not reveal that information to Blaisdell. Michael wants that privilege."

"Where is Michael?"

"In a hotel room across town." Davis eyed the man very closely. "Don't get any ideas about trying to contact Michael, Matheson. You know our agreement. You'll meet Mike at his time and choosing, not before."

"I have too much at stake to risk damaging our business agreement, my friend," Matheson chuckled, allowing himself an opportunity to gloat over what he hoped would be the destruction of his hated enemy. "I've waited years for an opportunity like this to come along, and I have no intention of letting it get away." He folded his hands together. "So, tell me about Michael."

"He's spent several years in a top-secret, maximum security prison. If you want to know more, ask him yourself," Davis said, irritated and bored in the same breath. He knocked on the roof of the car, signaling the driver to stop. "You will be receiving a phone call tomorrow telling you when and where the meeting will take place. Until then no further contact will be made."

The Senator smiled, placed the CD into his chest pocket, and waited until the men departed before he pressed a button on the console. "Swing by the house," he instructed his driver. "I have some interesting news to tell my wife."

Chief of Detectives Frank Strenlich looked at his watch again for the fifth time in less than ten minutes, and then glanced anxiously at the front desk. Fifteen minutes ago, Blaisdell had received a phone call from the police commissioner. The conversation ended abruptly and Blaisdell left the precinct on his way to the commissioner's office.

Strenlich knew the conversation had something to do with Peter interfering with SWAT Commander Bartlett Stiles' jurisdiction in a hostage situation. Peter had crawled through a window, rescued the hostages, and captured the man single-handily before the criminal had time to know what had happened.

Somehow, Sandra Mason had arrived on the scene, pushed a microphone in Stiles' face, and forced the SWAT Commander to praise Peter on live television or risk losing face with his squad and the rest of the city. Everyone knew it would only be a matter of time before Stiles retaliated, and it came in the form of Commissioner Cooper's recent hostile phone call to Blaisdell.

"I don't want to be here when Blaisdell returns," Strenlich muttered, "The old man is going to have everyone within eye sight on a hit list."

"Better you than me, Chief," Mary Margaret Skalany laughed as she patted Strenlich on the arm. "Blake and I have to check out a call on Fourth and Main, so we won't be here." She turned and gasped in frustration, "Oh, Great! Fred Flintstone's here."

"Hiya Skalany, Chief," Patrick Epstein shouted at the two. He took his time walking around the bullpen before asking, "Where's tomato can? I need to see him."

"Take a number, Epstein," Strenlich growled.

"You on another diet, Chief?" Epstein jokingly asked, and then retreated to the nearest desk when Strenlich shot him his most intimidating glare. The burly detective grabbed a case file, opened it, and pretended to be interested in the contents.

Frank continued to glare at the visiting detective, almost daring Epstein to open his big mouth, until he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and spotted Peter heading towards the locker room. "Freeze where you are, Detective."

Peter's plan of sneaking in without being noticed went up in flames. "Before you start yelling, Chief …"

"I don't want to hear it, Peter," Frank interrupted his young detective. He pointed at Blaisdell's closed door. "But the old man does and right now he isn't here. You want to take a good guess where he is?" Strenlich folded his arms waiting for the expected ridiculous answer that would come from the detective.

Peter feigned innocence but Frank wasn't buying it. "Your little stunt got Blaisdell called to the commissioner's office."

"Why, because Stiles got his ego deflated on live television?" Peter smiled, trying to get the Chief to see the humor of the situation. Failing, he cleared his throat. "I guess you had to be there, Chief." He quickly hurried to his desk to get away from Strenlich's angry glare, and spotted his former partner sitting in his chair. "Eppy, what are you doing here?"

"Glad to see you too, kid," Epstein huffed in an insulted tone. He walked around the front of the desk, and squatted on the corner edge.

Peter dropped down in his chair, pulled out a file, and started reading.

Epstein waited half a minute and then sighed. "What do I have to do to get your attention? Run naked up and down the bullpen?"

Mary Margaret stopped typing her report long enough to comment. "Oh, please, I just ate."

"Skalany, I was kidding when I asked you to get me a cup of coffee. I'm all for women's rights," Eppy said, trying his best to get back in Skalany's good graces. The woman had been making him pay for the incident for the last six months. "What do you want from me?"

Mary Margaret stared at him intensely then broke into a fit of giggles.

He heard Peter laughing and turned to face his former partner, "Oh this is just great. I protect you for four years and this is how you thank me," he ranted. "Can I have that file you promised me so I can leave?"

"Sorry, Eppy." Peter chuckled and handed his former partner the folder. "Skalany will ease up on you eventually."

"Yeah, and my mother beat up Chuck Norris last night," Epstein grunted, watching the younger man with interest. "Have you forgotten rule number 48? Never lie to your partner, past or present, unless it's a matter of life and death."

"Peter, my office pronto," Kermit called to his friend, stopping long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey, when did Blaisdell hire Jack Nicholson?"

"That's Kermit, Eppy. I'll introduce you to him later." Peter got up from his desk and headed toward the ex-mercenary's office.

"Kermit?" Epstein shook his head after Peter disappeared into the small office. "I wonder if Big Bird answers the phones around here?"

Senator John Matheson knocked on the wooden oak door of a hotel suite. He was growing more impatient with each passing moment. He was a Senator in the United States Congress; people came to him not the other way around. Before he could gather his thoughts the door swung open.

"You're late, Matheson. We were beginning to think you changed your mind." Davis opened the door wide enough to allow the Senator to enter.

Matheson walked into the large foyer. Another man quickly approached and searched him. He then announced, "He's clean."

"Follow me," Davis ordered. He led the Senator into a large living room.

A man sat alone on a couch with his feet propped up on a coffee table. The Senator recognized the blond haired man immediately. "Michael, tell your goon squad to leave. We need to talk. "

Michael Blaisdell's only resemblance to his father was his steel blue eyes. He easily stood six foot four and had the body of a weight lifter. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties.

"Davis, take the boys out for a drink. Be back in thirty minutes."

Davis snapped his fingers and the two men quickly followed him out the door.

John Matheson took off his coat and tossed it over a chair before he sat down. "I had you out of prison several years ago, Michael. You had a new identity, money, and you threw it all away. For what? A drug cartel?"

"Drug cartel? How little you know, Matheson." Michael picked up his glass of wine and mockingly toasted the man before him. "I had a mission to accomplish in Florida. It was a complete success."

"Was it worth spending the four years in prison for drug smuggling?"

"Even if it meant spending the rest of my life behind bars, it was worth it," Michael admitted before he sipped the wine. "Revenge was never sweeter."

This bit of news startled the Senator.

"I don't have all day John, so why don't you spare me the routine conversation and tell me why you had me released from prison." Michael eyed him suspiciously. "I know you like a book. You want something and I am guessing it has to do with my father."

"It's no secret that your father and I do not see eye to eye."

"Don't see eye to eye?" Michael laughed out loud. "My father hates your guts, unless something has changed over the years, and I'm sure it hasn't." He narrowed his eyes, "Now tell me what you really want."

"I only want what you want Michael. Justice, nothing else."

"Yeah, right!" The younger man sneered. "Just tell me what my father's been doing since I last saw him and then you can get out of here."

"Your father went into semi-retirement about eighteen years ago." The Senator pulled out a file and tossed it unto the coffee table. "It seems he preferred being a policeman and raising his family than working as a mercenary."

"The old man came out of the cold? Now that I find hard to believe." Michael leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "I bet that decision didn't sit well with some people."

"No, it didn't, but from what I have heard he could have cared less what his superiors thought. He was determined to close that part of his life and spend more time with his wife and children."

"You mean my sisters, don't you?" Michael snarled with contempt. "Yeah, he was around when they were growing up. Too bad he didn't show me the same courtesy. I grew up in boarding schools all over Europe wondering what the hell I'd done to be abandoned and rejected by my father. Do you know I was almost twenty-one years old before I first laid eyes on the man?"

"Your mother mentioned something about that, but she didn't go into any details. I felt it wasn't my place to pry, but working with Blaisdell as long as I did, I know firsthand what a cruel, cold bastard he can be." Matheson replied vaguely, "Joyce was terrified of him, did you know that?"

"Well, considering he used to beat the hell out of her, she had good reason to be. After eighteen months of his abuse, she finally wised up, filed for a divorce, and left him," he explained in a somber voice. "Six weeks later, she discovered she was pregnant. She moved to Switzerland, had me, and when I got old enough, she dumped me into the nearest boarding school she could find. I guess she didn't want anything around to remind her of the past."

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions before continuing. "She would come to visit two or three times a year and bring a bunch of expensive presents with her. At first I thought she came to see me because she loved me and missed me, but I finally figured out it was only to ease her guilty conscience."

"That's not true, Michael," Matheson declared, "Your mother cared about you."

"I guess she did the best she could considering the circumstances. After all, she did give me 100,000 dollars for a graduation present with instructions to travel Europe and enjoy myself."

"That was very generous of her."

"Yeah, I thought so," he agreed. "Two years later, I started to get bored and the money ran out, so I decided to pay Mother a little visit. I tracked her down from an old postcard she had sent before I graduated. Imagine my surprise when I showed up and discovered not only had she remarried my father five years earlier, but they now had two daughters." He paused long enough to look up at the Senator and grin. "I wasn't the only one who was stunned, though. I thought my father was going to have a heart attack when I told him who I was."

"What happened?"

"All Hell broke loose," Michael explained through fits of laughter. "Once he recovered from the shock, he demanded answers from my mother. Well she started crying, and ran into the bedroom and locked herself in. He followed after her, kicked in the door and then one hell of an argument ensued. An hour later, he came back out, and started this non-stop gibbering about how he never knew anything about me, and how he had always wanted a son. He swore he would make things right between us and make up for all the time we had lost, but they were just words. They didn't mean anything to me."

"How long was it after the reunion did your parents get their second divorce?"

"It wouldn't surprised me if the divorce papers weren't filed the next day. My mother walked out and never looked back. She latched on to the very first fool who had money in his pockets." Michael looked at the Senator, not bothering to stifle his laughter. "Well, we both know who she hooked up with, don't we."

Matheson stared back at him, but refused to comment on the last statement. "I supposed after the divorce, your relationship with your father also deteriorated."

"Relationship? What relationship? I spent two long years trying to please a man who claimed he didn't know anything about me until he was forced to own up to it. No matter what I did or tried to do, Paul Blaisdell always found some excuse to criticize me. I wasn't good enough to be his son," Michael said, his anger building as he talked about his painful past with his father. "In a last ditch attempt to please him, I begged to become part of his elite mercenary team. Even that wasn't good enough because six months later, he suggested bringing in a mentor to guide me. Little did I know that the so-called mentor would be a Judas, a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I take it you mean Griffin?"

"Of course I mean Griffin, you idiot," Michael replied, wondering why he was confiding in a man he loathed. He laughed to himself, shrugging it off as a temporary lapse in sanity. Besides, he wanted to get a few things off his chest and Matheson happened to be the only person within ear range at the moment.

"Griffin squeezed his slimy carcass into my father's life and took my designated place. If there was a conflict between us, Dad always took Kermit's side. If I protested, he claimed my jealousy of Kermit was getting out of hand. From that moment on, I hated him for favoring an outsider over me. I was determined to make them both pay so I bided my time and made everyone believe I was a loyal member of their little group. The old man fell for it like a ton of bricks."

"Too bad Griffin and Rykker weren't so easily fooled," Matheson commented.

"I should have listened to my mother. She always suspected Rykker was on to me, but I ignored her. She practically begged me not to go on that mission, but all I saw were dollar signs and revenge."

"We never would have located the prison Rykker and Griffin had placed you in if it hadn't been for Joyce's ingenuity. How she got that information, I don't know because she, even to this day, refuses to tell me." The Senator's revelation didn't surprise Michael. Like him, his mother, kept her sources secret unless she thought it was beneficial to reveal them. It was just one of many traits that they shared which contributed to their love-hate relationship. Matheson continued to sing his mother's praises, which annoyed Michael to no end. The Senator noticed his reaction and added, "At least have the common decency to call Joyce and thank her for what she's done for you. She didn't have to do anything but she did because she loves you."

"Oh please, who do you think you're kidding, Matheson? My mother only cares about herself. The only reason she got me out of prison is because she wants something from me," he said, feeling the need to enlighten the sniveling government official about his mother's true motives. "She strung the old man along until she bled him dry and never looked back. She devastated her own family and I'm willing to bet they never got over the damaged she caused."

"Take a look inside some of those folders," Matheson instructed, enticing him by pointing at the stack piled on top of the table. "You might find something interesting in there, my friend."

Michael reluctantly took the top folder off the table and opened it. He blinked twice before holding up a picture. "This is Carolyn? And she's married?" He laughed after Matheson gave him a confirming nod. "I bet the groom had to survive the interrogation from hell."

"Perhaps," the Senator shrugged, "but your family seemed pleased with the young man."

"I see the old man spared no expense for his darling daughter," Michael commented sarcastically before going on to the next photograph. His attention instantly focused on the petite, blond haired woman wearing dark sunglasses, who held his father's arm. There was something about her that made him nervous. He lifted the picture and showed it to Matheson. "Who's the woman?"

"Your stepmother, Annie," Matheson answered, shocking Michael with the news. The younger man thought at first the Senator was joking, but Matheson turned serious and added, "It took a few years but your father remarried, settled down, and joined the police force."

"Well, so much for my theories." Michael flipped through the pictures, casually glancing at each one until another photograph caught his attention. "Griffin," he spat, wondering if his old adversary was still alive. "How old are these pictures? I noticed Griffin wasn't in the wedding pictures. Hopefully, he's dead."

"Those pictures were taken six months ago, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Griffin is very much alive." The Senator answered. "Rumor has it that the reason Griffin didn't attend the wedding was because he was out of the country doing something for Blaisdell at the time."

"I'd hoped somebody would have killed him by now. Well, so much for that."

"Griffin and your father share a past, you know that."

"Anyone with a brain knows that!" Michael said still glaring at the picture. "Griffin could do no wrong in Paul Blaisdell's eyes. I bet he moved in the family home the second I supposedly died."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you, Michael."

"And if I were you, Matheson, I'd drown myself in the nearest toilet and flush myself right out of existence." Michael ripped the picture in half and tossed the rest of the unseen pictures on the floor. "I almost wish I knew where Griffin was so I could pay him a little visit. There's something I'm dying to tell him."

"I just happen to know where you can locate Griffin."

Michael's head snapped up when he heard Matheson's news. "Where?"

"He's working as a detective in your father's precinct."

"My, oh my, isn't that just cozy." Michael snarled, "Why am I not surprised? It figures the old man would have his anointed son working with him."

"Blaisdell's son does work for him, but it's not Griffin," the Senator replied with a sly grin. "Did I forget to mention that you have a brother?"

Peter stood with his back against Kermit's closed door waiting for the ex-mercenary to speak. Instead, the 101st's computer genius kept typing as though the detective wasn't even in the room. Finally reaching the end of his patience, Peter walked around to the front of the desk, leaned over, and asked, "Kermit, have you found anything on my father?"

Holding up his hand to silence his friend, Kermit continued to type. A moment later, he glanced up from the computer screen and heaved an aggravated sigh. "I've found Atlantis, the secret recipe for KFC, the formula for Coca Cola, and the idiotic reason why a certain dim-witted star has their own reality show, but nothing on Kwai Chang Caine." Noticing the disappointed expression on his friend's face, he quickly added, "I'm not giving up Peter. If Caine is out there, I'll find him. I promise."

"Thanks, Kermit. I know you're trying," Peter replied somberly, then dropped down in the visitor chair and anxiously ran his hand through his hair. "It's just that…" his voice trailed off. "It's been three months."

"I know, kid. I know," Kermit replied with sympathy. He understood the misery the younger man was experiencing, but dwelling on things that were beyond one's control was not only fruitless, but a dangerous distraction as well. The latter, he was positive, had been the cause of Peter's erratic behavior earlier. "I heard about your little run in with Stiles this morning. I thought Paul told you to stay out of SWAT's jurisdiction."

"What was I supposed to do, Kermit? Stand around and do nothing? Stiles ordered his men to rush the store with the hostages still inside. He doesn't care who gets hurt, just as long as he gets all the glory."

"Peter, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not Blaisdell. You're wasting your time using me as a rehearsal when it's the captain you should be convincing. Judging from the way he left the precinct, your best bet is to find the nearest hole, climb inside and rake the dirt in on top of you."

"He's that mad?" Peter's eyes widened, surprised by the revelation. The hazel eyes started dancing. "It's not like I did it on purpose."

"Oh, really?" Kermit challenged, trying hard to control his temper and not raise his voice in response to such an asinine statement. "You intentionally disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer, then interfered in a dangerous situation without the training or experience to back it up. You risked not only your life but those of innocent civilians, and now you have the audacity to claim you didn't do it on purpose. Who the hell do you think you're talking to, an idiot?"

"Well, maybe I did do it on purpose, but everything turned out all right, didn't it?"

"Do me a favor and save your rationalizations for Paul. You're going to have to face the consequences of your actions on your own this time, so don't expect me to be around to save your sorry ass." He mentally started counting off the seconds, waiting for Peter's next retort. The young man's confrontations with his foster father were so predictable that they had become monotonous. Without looking up, Kermit added, "And don't even try giving me that look either. I'm not siding with you against Blaisdell on this and that's final."

"Kermit, Stiles needs to…"

"Peter, let me give you some friendly advice." Kermit removed his sunglasses and eyed his coworker intensely, hoping the younger man would realize the seriousness of the situation. "There's something about Stiles that I can't quite put my finger on. Call it instinct or a gut feeling, but I don't trust him. You just…"

The door opened before Kermit could finish giving Peter his opinion of the SWAT commander. Angered over the distraction, he snapped at the person who had intruded. "The door's closed for a reason," he hissed while continuing to stare at Peter. Kermit tensed when he saw the horrified expression on the young man's face. He knew he had just stuck his foot in his mouth.

Kermit mouthed the word 'Paul' to the younger man, who managed a brief but uneasy nod. Plastering his most unemotional expression on his face, Kermit swiveled around in his chair and greeted the trespasser with an apology. "Sorry Captain."

"In my office now, Detective Caine." Blaisdell glared hard at the junior detective for a long moment before turning sharply and leaving the room. On the way out he slammed the door so hard that several items on Kermit's desk shook from the impact.

As Peter reluctantly got to his feet and made his way to the door, Kermit started humming 'Taps.'

"You think this is funny?"

"Oh, yeah!"

Looking at the picture in his hand, Michael kept grinning. "A brother."

The Senator had spent the last ten minutes explaining Peter's history with the Blaisdells, and was shocked by Michael's reaction to the news. Matheson expected the man to go into a violent rage, throw a few things, but instead Michael seemed to be delighted with the news. Why, the Senator didn't know, but he was determined to find the reason. "I didn't think you would take this so well."

"And why not?" Michael answered with a wider grin. "This is perfect. I no longer have to compete with Griffin for my father's approval. This kid Peter is a lot younger and, from what you've just told me about his real father walking out of his life, very vulnerable."

"You forget Blaisdell raised him. Peter Caine is a lot of things but vulnerable isn't one of them."

"Come on! Unless he's a Vulcan, you can't tell me his long lost father pulling a disappearing act on him hasn't affected him emotionally, and, if I'm lucky, mentally." Michael's blue eyes lit up as he considered the possibilities. "I think it's time for big brother to return to the fold. I want to get reacquainted with my father and little sisters, and meet the new additions to the family."

"And I suppose you think you can walk right back into your family's life as if nothing has happened over the years?"

"My father will welcome me back with open arms. All I have to do is tell him the truth. Well, my version of it anyway," Michael replied. "It's going to be so good seeing the family again."

"Blaisdell isn't stupid. In fact, the man's down right dangerous," Matheson argued.

"John, for someone who spends most of their time in Washington, you sure know an awful lot about my family." Michael turned his back on the Senator, and then spun around and pointed a small revolver at the man. "I don't like that."

Swallowing the large lump in his throat, Matheson never took his eyes off the weapon. "I'm only looking after your best interest, Michael. There's no need to be hostile."

"If you stick your nose in my business one more time, I'm going to blow it off."

"Well, I can see I'm not wanted here," Matheson quickly made his escape.

"Was it something that I said?" Michael asked, laughing at the retreating Senator. He turned his attention back to the pictures. Looking at one of Paul Blaisdell, he grinned. "Well, Dad, you're about to get the shock of your life."

Standing against the bookshelf, Peter anxiously waited in dreaded silence as Blaisdell finished reading a three-page report before scribbling his signature across the bottom of the page. The captain then handed the report back to Strenlich's waiting hands.

Peter glanced down at his boots, secretly wishing Bon Bon Hai, the Sing Wah, George, and the Shadow Assassin would join forces and attack because nothing they could do to him would be nearly as bad as facing Blaisdell's wrath.

Fortunately, Frank had managed to delay the upcoming tongue-lashing by demanding the captain's immediate attention on some important paperwork that, in the chief's own words, 'couldn't wait.'

Peter hoped those papers contained something positive that would improve the captain's frosty disposition. Or, if he was really lucky, perhaps it was a missing report on Stiles. He smiled, relishing that thought, but quickly dismissed it as fantasy.

He was convinced that if Stiles really was missing, not even the SWAT commander's own men would look for him. The thought of Stile's face plastered on milk cartons was almost comical.

Someone calling his name snapped him out of his reverie. When he glanced up, Blaisdell and Strenlich were staring at him. Each man appeared agitated, as if they had been waiting a long time for him to answer.

He frantically tried to think of a response but had no idea what to say. Two minutes ago, he didn't think the situation could get any worse, but he had just proven himself wrong. He quickly cleared his throat, and tried to look remorseful, hoping it would be enough to pacify both men.

Strenlich moved to the door. "I'll hold your calls, Captain."

"Got any suicide missions, Frank?" Peter asked jokingly, attempting to lighten the mood in the room. "I think I'm going to need one when this is over."

"You're not going to be that lucky," Blaisdell said, clearly not impressed with Peter's humor. With an aggressive nod of the head, the captain motioned towards the empty seat across from his desk. "Sit down, Detective. You're going to be here for awhile."

For the first time in his life, Peter was at a loss for words. As he slowly dropped down into the chair Paul had indicated, he decided the best course of action would be to keep his head down, and avoid looking at the captain unless it proved absolutely necessary.

"You must think I'm some kind of an idiot if you think that old ploy is going to work, especially now." Paul said and rose to his feet. He kicked the leather chair hard with the toe of his shoe as he made his way to the front of the desk.

Peter winced, as he watched the chair strike a metal filing cabinet and ricochet back to its original resting place. He risked a glance upwards and found his father sitting on the edge of the desk, glaring down at him.

"I've had it with your disregard for authority. Not only are you risking your life, but you're disrespecting me and my position at this precinct." Blaisdell's voice sounded like thunder, raising another decibel lever with each spoken word. "I want to know what courses you took that qualified you as a hostage negotiator, Detective?"

"None, Captain," Peter admitted somberly, and then braced himself for more of the lecture from hell.

Paul twisted around and picked up a folder on his desk, turned back around and showed it to the junior officer. "I'm sure you'll recognize your file. It often gets mistaken for the phone book around here." Blaisdell opened the folder and skimmed over the first page. "There must be some flawed information in your record because nowhere in here does it state that you transferred to the SWAT team. You mind telling me when that happened?"

"It didn't, Captain," Peter answered, and then grimaced when Blaisdell slammed the folder on the desk.

"Then you violated a direct order from a superior officer, didn't you?" The remark wasn't a question but an accusation that demanded an immediate response. When Peter failed to reply, Paul repeated the question. Peter frantically tried to come up with a good excuse for his behavior, but all he could manage was a weak affirming nod which caused the already angry Blaisdell to erupt like Mt. Saint Helens. "Since this is the second time you've interfered in Stiles' jurisdiction, Cooper is demanding your immediate suspension. I hope you realize the difficult position you've put me in today. I've spent most of the morning in his office defending you, which wasn't easy considering he had every right to throw the book at you."

"Paul, I…," he started but the anger radiating from the steel blue eyes caused the words to freeze in his throat.

"I told him that I personally will handle your reprimand," Blaisdell said, continuing with the tirade, "and believe me you're going to wish I had suspended you before this is finished."

Peter desperately tried to think of something, anything, to help him escape his current predicament before the situation deteriorated even further. "Captain, I know what I did was wrong, but Stiles needed to be stopped before he signed those hostages' death warrants. I'm sure the commissioner understood."

"Cooper agreed with Stiles."

"What? Is he insane?" Peter asked, shocked by the news. "If Cooper agreed with Stiles then someone needs to call the guys in white jackets."

"Cooper's sanity isn't the reason why we're here, is it, Detective?" Paul asked. Again Peter nodded, unable to dispute the question. Blaisdell heaved a heavy sigh, returned to his chair, and stared back at the younger man. "I'm tired of you constantly putting your own life in jeopardy without even hesitating to think about the consequences of your actions and who it may affect."

"That's not true," Peter protested, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with where he thought the conversation was headed. He was sure Paul was about to bring up his father's disappearance and he simply didn't want to go there.

"Well, I believe differently, and since my opinion is the only one that counts in this precinct, this argument is over," the captain stated firmly. The leather chair squeaked as Blaisdell leaned back and added, "As of this minute, you're off the streets and confined to desk duty for a week."

"What!" Peter shouted, jumping to his feet in objection. He expected a reprimand, a written warning, even the worst-case scenario of enduring the wrath of his mother, but he had never expected to be chained to a desk for simply upstaging Stiles. It just wasn't fair. The punishment, in his opinion, didn't fit the crime. "Why don't you suspend me? It would be a hell of a lot better than doing paperwork like some out of shape pencil pusher."

"Sit down," Paul barked, cutting off the protest with a threatening glare that would have made even Kermit shudder. The captain waited until the order was complied with, then wasted no words explaining why he had chosen this particular recourse. "Confining you to your desk for a week should make you think twice before you pull another stupid stunt like you did this morning. If not, then for the duration of your career, you WILL be a pencil pusher."

Getting back to his feet, Peter angrily moved to the door, grabbed the doorknob. He started to open the door, but paused long enough to state his opinion on his punishment one last time before leaving Paul's office, "This is totally unjustified. How am I supposed to complete my investigations, interview witnesses, check out leads on suspects and meet Donny Double D if I'm glued to my chair?"

Paul's voice was void of sympathy. "That's something you're going to have to figure out." The captain picked up a pen and started writing, glancing up only to issue one final order, "You're dismissed."

Peter's temper flared, insulted that he had been kicked out of Paul's office like some rookie, "You don't have the right to - -"

"I don't have the right to do what?" Paul demanded, furious that Peter was challenging his authority.

"Nothing." Peter wisely relented, realizing he was on the losing end of the battle. He knew his father's temper, and the few times he had crossed that line in the past, he had suffered the consequences. He had no desire to repeat those same mistakes. "I meant no disrespect. I'm sorry, Captain."

"I believe you have work to do," Paul said sternly without looking up, his attention focused solely on his paperwork.

Peter took one last glance at his boss and then walked out of the office, making sure he closed the door quietly behind him.

He glanced out into the bullpen in time to see several heads turn. Everyone suddenly pretended they were busy, and ignored him as he walked to his desk.

Frank walked by him, knocked on Blaisdell's door, and entered without waiting for an invitation.

Robert Davis opened the door to the luxury suite and walked in with two men following close behind.

"Everything is going according to plan, Mike." He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink before he pulled out a piece of paper and showed it to his employer. "I got the lease for the building directly across the street from the 101st Precinct."

"Any problems with the owner wanting to sell?"

"Mr. Luther wanted more than our asking price, but after some intense negotiation, he accepted the final offer," Davis laughed. "He wisely settled for one third of what we were originally going to offer him."

"Reward him for his generosity," Michael said, and glanced up, an angry scrawl plastered across his face. "That idiot's greediness has put us behind schedule."

"It's being taken care of as we speak."

"I want no loose ends, Robert," Michael warned, making sure his demands were clear. "We want to appear to be legitimate businessmen new to the city."

"Trust me, Mike, you know my reputation. I am the best," Davis replied.

The phone rang and Davis picked up the receiver. "Hello, yeah, it's me. What? Good." He hung up the phone and grinned smugly at Michael. "Mr. Luther apparently fell down five flights of stairs and broke his neck." Davis said. He placed his hand across his chest and pretended to be shocked as he delivered the news. "He died instantly."

Shaking his head, Michael chuckled in amusement. "I don't know why I doubted you in the first place."

"You can easily make it up to me, Mike," Robert Davis declared as he pulled out a Havana cigar, lit it, and savored the aroma before continuing. "I want the first hit."

"Deal," Michael said, agreeing to the demand. "But I name the target."

Annie moved to the bottom of the stairs and called up to her youngest daughter. "Kelly, your sister should be here in fifteen minutes." She waited, listening to the familiar footsteps of the young woman as she rushed out of the bedroom and hurried down the stairs.

"I've got everything ready, Mom," Kelly said. "I even moved my clothes out of the spare bedroom closet so she would have plenty of room for her things."

"You mean there's another closet in this house that I'm not aware of?" Annie teased, referring to her stepdaughter's fondness for buying clothes and using her sister's old room to store them. "Carolyn is only staying for two weeks while Todd's in Japan, and the final touches are being put on their new house. You should have your space back before you know it."

"I don't mind. In fact, I think it's great!" Kelly said. "We've already made plans to hit the mall as soon as she gets here."

The oven buzzer went off.

"Why am I not surprised?" Annie said laughing as she made her way to the stove. "Come into the kitchen and tell me about last night. I want to hear all about your karate tournament."

Kelly gasped. "How did you know?"

"Have any of my children ever been able to keep secrets from me?" Annie asked playfully, enjoying the fact that she could still catch her children off guard. She indulged a little smile before revealing the truth. "In this case, Peter told me about it. The way he talked, you would have thought he was the one competing, not you. Congratulations on winning first place in your division."

"Thanks," the young woman said despondently, "but I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't want anyone to know I was competing, at least not yet."

"Kelly, you should have told us," Annie chided, confused by her daughter's feelings. If Kelly had been worried that they wouldn't have supported her decision to enter a tournament so early in her lessons, Annie wanted to dispel that fear immediately. She quickly tried to ease that fear. "Paul and I would have been there for you. It's not every day that our youngest daughter wins a tournament."

"It's not that I didn't want you all there. I was just a little nervous because it was my first tournament and I had no idea how well I would do," Kelly replied, and then laughed as she embraced her mother. "I promise, my next tournament, you and Dad will get front row seats. I'm just never taking Peter with me again."

"All right, I'll hold you to that promise," Annie said as her daughter broke the embrace. She reached out and touched Kelly's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, "Don't be angry at your brother. You know how he tends to brag a little."

"A little? We're talking about Peter, right?" Kelly asked, releasing a frustrated sigh. "I wanted it to be a surprise and he ruined everything. Peter has a big mouth, and I'm going to tell him that when I see him. I wonder how he would like it if I told you what he got you for Christmas?"

"Don't you dare! I like surprises!" Annie replied. She then proceeded to relate the details of a phone conversation, "In your father's own words, 'my' son was in his dog house again. Peter's never his son when he's in trouble; he's always 'my' son."

"Now you made me feel bad for getting angry with him," Kelly confessed, kissing her mother on the cheek as she followed her into the kitchen. "I think I'll take my favorite brother out for lunch." She grabbed her keys from the key rack, and started for the door. "Do you think I should call first? I don't want to walk into the battlefield if Dad is still reading Peter the riot act. I should know. I've been on the receiving end of plenty of them."

"Go. You leave your father to me," Annie suggested. She reached for the telephone and called the precinct.

"101st Precinct, Broderick speaking."

"Hello, John," Annie said, greeting the precinct's desk sergeant after recognizing his familiar voice.

"Annie, hi. What can I do for you?"

"Is my husband in?"

"Sure, just a second and I'll connect you."

"Thanks, John," she answered, and then waited until she heard Paul's voice on the other line. It was obvious from his tone that he was still angry. She vowed to change that. "Hi dear. How would you like to take someone out for lunch this afternoon?"

"Anyone I know?" her husband teased.

"Well, she's blonde, mysterious, and loves a good conversation over a nice glass of wine with a handsome man," she chuckled, as Paul continued to play along with the charade. In a matter of seconds, the hostility had disappeared from his voice.

Robert Davis quietly tapped away on his laptop. He wanted to make sure one last time that everything was in place. He glanced over at his partner and smiled. Michael Blaisdell could sleep through anything, anywhere or anytime. They had been in the air for two hours and were due to land soon. Davis closed the laptop, placed it in between his feet, and then elbowed his companion awake.

"While you were dreaming, I made sure your orders were being followed. The office is set up, the equipment is in place, and the 101st is now under complete surveillance. By the time we get there, you and I should know the routine of every officer in that precinct."

"That's not my plan and you know it." Michael growled. He grabbed Davis by shirt and jerked him towards him. "I told you, I only want two people under surveillance and that's my father and Griffin. The others are insignificant. If they become a problem, then we'll deal with them. Until that time comes, we stick to the original plan."

"Lighten up, Mike. It was just for precautionary purposes, that's all," Robert said, and pulled free out of Michael's grip. "You better calm yourself down real fast or this whole operation is going to blow up in your face."

He touched his angry associate on the arm. "I know how bad you want revenge. If we play our cards right, you can have that and so much more."

Michael leaned back into his seat, folded his arms, and smiled. "What was it that Griffin use to say? 'Oh, yeah?'"


	2. Chapter 2

**PAST REGRETS**

KALEIDOPYII

Mary Margaret Skalany closed the folder she had been working on, tossed it into her Case Closed tray, and then leaned back in her chair to allow herself a moment of satisfaction before pulling out another.

The continuous tapping from across the aisle was slowly grating on her nerves. Finally taking all she could, she looked over at Peter who was tapping the eraser end of his pencil on a pile of paper work. "Hey partner, you think you can keep the drum solo down?"

Before Peter could make a comment, the phone on his desk started ringing. He yanked up the receiver and growled, "Caine." A second later a smile spread across his face. "Donny, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

Skalany watched with amused interest as Peter anxiously listened to his snitch. She knew it was only a matter of time before the fun would start.

"When? Now?" Peter asked. He released a frustrated sigh, placed his hand over the telephone's receiver, and called out to the detective sitting in front of him, "Uh Blake…"

"Forget it," the precinct's electronic expert replied, not bothering to turn around as he continued to tinker with a small gadget.

"Donny, let me call you back." Peter hung up the phone and took a quick glance behind him to make certain the captain's office door was closed. With a satisfied grin, he casually glided across the aisle in his chair and headed straight in Mary Margaret's direction.

"Skalany, I need you to cover for me," Peter said, and quickly raised his hand, halting her protest even before she had time to voice it. "Let me explain first. Donny has some information on a case that I need. All I need is one hour."

"And how am I supposed to explain your absence?" Skalany countered.

"Simple. Tell everyone I'm in the bathroom." Peter rolled himself back behind his desk before she could argue. He grabbed the phone and dialed a number. "Donny? I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere until I get there, you understand?" He glanced over his shoulder, doubled checking to make certain that the coast was clear before he hung up the telephone. He grabbed his jacket and smiled his most charming smile. "I'll be back before anyone knows I'm gone."

"Famous last words." Skalany taunted and watched him leave the bullpen. "I'll make sure it's put on your tombstone."

After loading the last of their luggage into the trunk of the rental car, Robert opened the passenger door, entered, and shut the door behind him. "It's show time."

During their drive, the two men remained quiet until the car reached an underground parking lot. "Our main office is located on the fourth floor, and we have a great view of the police precinct directly across the street," Robert said, as he locked the car and the two men walked to the elevator, "My friend, we are in the distributing business."

Before Michael had time to respond, the elevator door opened. Both stepped inside and waited until the door closed before Michael responded, "Distributing? Couldn't you have come up with something more original?"

"There's no better cover than a distributing company. We can stockpile almost everything we need without drawing attention to ourselves." Davis pressed the fourth button on the panel and the elevator started upward. "We even have a catchy company name: American Distributors. I think that's appropriate for such, All-American, law-abiding citizens as ourselves, Americans, don't you?"

The elevator door opened and the two exited. They walked up the long hallway; Davis enjoyed showing his partner their new location. The place didn't lack for luxuries.

He opened the door to the office suite and a woman greeted them as they looked around the waiting room. "I'm Mary Applegate. Mr. Smith is expecting you. He's waiting for you in the far right office with the other gentlemen."

Both men followed her directions and went to the office she had indicated. A man walked up to shake their hands. "Good to see you again, Robert," he said, and turned to Michael and introduced himself. "I'm William Smith, the best electronics expert money can buy. I can do wonders with voice tape, computers, and telephone taps. You name it, I can do it."

"I'll need your services very soon, Mr. Smith," Michael said, and slapped the man on the shoulder. He moved over to the rear window and looked out through the slats of the mini blinds, immediately and spotting his target, the 101st precinct. "Have we gotten our two pigeons' routine down?"

"Griffin has no routine," another man answered as he pulled out his note pad to go over his notes. "He comes and goes as he pleases, never takes the same route to and from home. I have no idea where the man lives. I swear, it's like he knows we are trailing him." Pulling out a picture, he gave it to his new boss, "This is the car he drives, a green Corvair."

Michael glanced at the picture before giving the photo back to the man. "What a God ugly car! What is it with Griffin and the color green?"

"Can't answer that question, but I do know it's his pride and joy."

Robert glanced over the man's shoulder, and took a quick look at the photo. He was convinced that Michael didn't have any taste, especially where classic cars were concerned. "What's wrong with this car? I like it."

"You would," Michael muttered, and then glanced down at his watch before returning to his view out the window. "Anything else?"

"Well, the cops hang out at a bar called Chandler's."

"That might be a place to keep in mind if we ever need a lot of witnesses for anything," Michael mused.

"I do have a little bit of news that might interest you, sir," the cameraman spoke up excitedly. "Paul Blaisdell dined at a small restaurant three days ago. I paid one of the waiters a few dollars and he told me that your father is a frequent guest. Either he dines by himself, with some of his co-workers, or with his wife on a regular basis. He's there now."

"A perfect place to accidentally bump into dear ol' daddy," Michael grinned. He turned around and faced the others in the room. "Have Ms. Applegate place a call to that restaurant and set us up with an account. It's time for me to make an appearance."

Broderick was on the verge of hitting the first person who dared speak one argumentative word to him.

Some idiot kept making prank phone calls to Strenlich every five minutes, putting the chief in one major bad mood. To make things worse, it seemed every nut in the city had come for afternoon visitation. It was days like this that he wished he had been a used car salesman.

"I already told you six times, if you want to see the prisoner, you have to fill out the paperwork first." He glared back at the six foot three inch man who was dressed in spandex, feathers, and a green Bozo wig. He slid the clipboard across the table towards the visitor.

The Jolly Green Giant just stared back at him with a dazed expression plastered across his face.

"Is the wig on too tight?" he asked sarcastically, thinking that might explain why the jackass refused to follow simple instructions. After again repeating his request for the man to sign the paperwork with no success, Broderick heaved a frustrated sigh. "Look buddy, no signature, no visit."

"Is there a problem?" Kermit asked. He gave a brief inspection of the man's attire before adding, "Is the circus in town?"

"Hey man, what's your problem?" the freak asked and then glared back at Broderick. "I ain't signing nothin'."

Kermit grabbed the clipboard and shoved it into the man's stomach, "I believe the nice officer asked you to sign this."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you are going to find out how hard it is to write with eight broken fingers," Kermit said and smiled dangerously at the man.

He wasn't stupid after all. He took the clipboard and filled out the forms in record time. In a polite, sincere voice, he added, "I'll wait over there until you call me…uh," he paused long enough to read the desk sergeant's name badge, "Sergeant Broderick. You let me know when I can see my friend." Taking a few steps backwards until the edge of a chair touched his legs, the man slowly descended into the chair, nervously watching every movement the ex-mercenary made.

Kermit wanted nothing more than to have some fun with the scumbag, but there were more important matters that needed his attention. Walking over to Skalany's desk, he grabbed a chair and sat down. "Where's Peter? And don't say the bathroom."

Taking a deep breath, Mary Margaret put down her pen. At least it wasn't the captain, she thought to herself. "He's…"

"Right here," Peter answered, heading for his desk.

Kermit got to his feet and followed the younger detective. "When you can fit me into your busy schedule, let me know. I have that information on the Kent case you wanted."

"Thanks Kermit, but we may not need it after all. I got what I needed from Donnie," Peter announced proudly. "One call to the D.A.'s office, and now Kent's lawyer has had a change of heart. There isn't going to be a lawsuit."

Kermit sat down on the edge of the desk and didn't move.

After a few seconds, Peter glanced up. "Do you want something, Kermit, or has my desk become your new office?"

Kermit didn't answer; he just continued to stare at the younger man, a feral grin forming on his lips

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Kermit's smile got bigger.

"Grinning like that." Peter shifted anxiously in his seat, "Come on, Kermit, you're giving me the creeps. What's going on in that devious mind of yours?"

"Devious? I'm not the one who supposedly took an hour cruise with the tidy bowl man."

Laughter broke out between Blake and Skalany, but Kermit maintained the same smug expression.

"Someone kept Blaisdell busy on the phone, and the chief," Blake paused long enough to glance around and then lowered his voice, "well let's just say if he gets a phone call, take a message."

"You owe Blake dinner," Kermit stated, ruffling Peter's hair as he stood up. "As for what you can do for me, I'll think of something later. And trust me, kid, I do have a vivid imagination." Griffin pulled his sunglasses off long enough to wink at Skalany before going back inside his office.

Watching with amusement at the shocked expression on her partner's face, Mary Margaret took the position Kermit had just vacated. "I don't know why I am telling you this, but every time Frank asked where you were, the phone started ringing. For some strange reason it was always for him."

"Strange how those calls got disconnected when the chief picked up," Blake declared, while attaching the listening end of a phone back into the receiver. "I like my steak well done, Pete."

"Medium rare for me, partner," Skalany added before returning to her desk.

"Where's the captain?" Peter asked, ignoring their request for dinner reservations. "His car was missing from the parking lot."

"Annie called, and he left to take her out for lunch," Blake answered. Two sets of accusing eyes stared back at him, putting him on the defensive. "I heard him telling Strenlich."

"I bet," Skalany teased the nervous man.

"I don't eavesdrop on Blaisdell's phone conversations, if that's what you're thinking. Besides, he would know if someone had his office bugged. And I wouldn't want to be in the guilty party's shoes when he found out."

Watching as Paul and Annie Blaisdell entered the restaurant, a man in a parked, dark sedan lowered the binoculars and pulled out a cellular phone. "It's me. I'm parked across the street from the restaurant you ordered me to keep under surveillance. Paul Blaisdell just went inside, but he isn't alone. He has his wife with him."

"Perfect," the voice responded. "I should be there in fifteen minutes. Stay where you are until I arrive. I don't want to lose sight of our prey."

Without saying another word, the man in the car hit the off button on the phone and tossed it into the passenger's seat. Twenty minutes later, another car drove past him and pulled into the restaurant's parking lot. Recognizing his employer's vehicle, he inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine.

Michael Blaisdell climbed out of his rental car, glanced across the street, and nodded to the driver in the dark sedan, who then drove away. As he walked inside the restaurant, he smelt the aroma of Italian cooking and it made his mouth water.

A lunch date out with her husband at their favorite restaurant during the workweek was a rare occasion for Annie. The live music and fresh roses that adorned each table enhanced the romantic atmosphere for which the small Italian restaurant was famous.

As they finished their meal, the conversation turned to Peter, and almost immediately Annie detected a barrier go up between them. Experience had taught her that the two most important men in her life never responded well when pushed, but she wasn't in the mood to play diplomat. She demanded to know the details of what had happened between father and son earlier that day.

Normally she easily got her way, and still managed to make it appear that it had been either her husband or son who had gotten the upper hand. However, today Paul unexpectedly stood his ground, refusing to even listen to her attempts to defend their son.

After numerous attempts, she finally gave up and commented on the weather.

"Annie, I know what you're trying to do," Paul said with a heavy sigh.

"It's not as crowded as it usually is this time of the day," she continued, determined to show her husband that she could be just as stubborn as he could.

"You're changing the subject on me again, babe."

She gently placed her folk down by her plate, and picked up her wine glass. "What's the point, Paul? You're too stubborn to even listen to my side of the discussion. You've already made your mind up and nobody is going to convince you otherwise."

"Annie, you know I trust your judgment implicitly, especially when it comes to our children, but this time I'm right and I know I did the right thing," he said, and placed his hand on top of hers. "If I had allowed Peter's destructive streak to go unchecked, then I might as well have signed his death certificate instead of the reprimand." Paul got the waiter's attention, and called out to their waiter, "We would like our check, please."

She waited until the waiter had left before she spoke, wanting to keep the conversation private. "I wasn't trying to undermine your authority, Paul. It's just that I'm worried about our son. Caine's leaving has left Peter devastated. It's like a part of him has died, and every time I try to get him to talk to me about it, he either clams up or finds some excuse to leave."

"You don't think I know that? Today was just another example of how insecure he's becoming and if I don't try to get a handle on him now, I'm afraid he's going to get himself killed." Her husband sighed, and then continued, "We've been through this before with Peter, and we came out all right. We'll do it again. It's just going to take longer because this time we're not dealing with the ghost of Kwai Chang Caine. The man's alive."

"If only Caine would make contact with his son," Annie said, as her thoughts turned to Peter's biological father. The priest seemed so likeable when she had first met him at Carolyn's wedding. Even Paul, a good judge of character, had been won over by Kwai Chang Caine, and for a while everything seemed perfect.

Naturally, it came as a complete shock when Caine suddenly left town, abandoning his kwoon, his students, and his newly discovered son without so much as a warning or a reason. Annie wondered if they had been wrong to accept the priest so easily?

"A postcard would do wonders for Peter's self-esteem right now."

"I'd love to know where Caine is myself," Paul's replied harshly, as a utensil struck his plate. "There's no excuse for what he's done to that kid."

"Paul, I want your word that if and when Caine returns, you won't interfere. Let Peter handle it, understand?" she continued, not giving him time to argue, "If you confront Caine over this, it's going to alienate Peter, and you know how he feels about his father. When you attack Caine, you attack him. Do you want to risk losing your son over this incident?"

"No, damn it, but it hurts like hell," her husband admitted bitterly. "You raise a son for twelve years, and then one day some stranger walks in and takes that title away from you."

"Paul, you will always be Peter's father. Nothing will ever change that fact, and neither Caine nor Peter expect you to believe any differently," Annie said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. If the shoe had been on the other foot, Annie wasn't sure if she would have accepted Laura's return from the grave as graciously as Paul had accepted Caine.

She never questioned Paul's motives, but it didn't stop her from wondering why with all his resources, her husband never investigated Caine's background just to confirm the man was really who he claimed to be. There were some things she wanted to discuss with Caine when he returned. Unlike Paul, who had to share his role as father, she was Peter's only mother, and she planned to make damn sure the priest realized just how adversely his unexplained absence had affected their son.

"We should do this more often," she suggested, finishing the last of her wine, and lighten the mood. She hated that they had spent most of their date talking about Peter, but felt it had been necessary to discuss the situation with Paul.

"Yes, we should, and as much as I prefer your company, if I don't get back to the office, I won't be home tonight," he said, getting up and helping her with her chair. "And I would hate to miss a night with you. Let's get…" his voice trailed off, then she heard him gasp, "Oh my God!"

"What is it?" Annie asked, alarmed by the tone of her husband's voice. "Paul what's wrong?"

She barely heard his whisper, "Michael."

For his part, Michael's performance would have won him the Oscar. His eyes started to mist as he quickly hurried to his father's table. "Dad? Is it really you? I'm not imagining this, am I?"

Tears welled up in Paul's eyes. He reached up and touched Michael's face. The older man's bottom lip quivered as he caressed his son's jaw, and the baritone voice, usually strong and stable, broke as emotion took over. "How?"

"Someone lied to you, Dad, but that's not important right now," Michael said, continuing with the illusion of someone who had been happily reunited with his family. "Just seeing you again is all that matters."

Paul pulled Michael into an embrace, holding him tightly as the scene continued, "I've dreamed about this moment for so long, son. They told me you were dead. Oh God, Michael! Where have you been? Why didn't you try to get in touch with me?"

As Paul continued to hug his son, neither he nor anyone else could see the evil smile that was on Michael Blaisdell's face.

This is working out better than I had hoped it would,' Michael thought to himself as he felt his father's tears of joy against his cheek. During the few short years they were together, Michael had rarely seen his father cry, especially not in public. 'Cry, old man. Before I'm finished with you and Griffin, you both will have plenty to cry about.'

With the paperwork completed on his newest detective, Strenlich slammed the top drawer of a filing cabinet and then walked out of his office. He saw Blaisdell walking through the bullpen, heading towards his office. "A three hour lunch? Very unusual for you, Captain." he commented with concern. "Is there something I should know?"

"You will soon," Paul promised then stopped in front of Peter's empty desk, glanced up, and asked, "Where is he, Frank?"

"Kelly showed up and took him to lunch," he answered. Before he could explain further, the phone started ringing. He angrily turned his attention to the front desk. "Broderick, if that's for me, take a message. I'm not here."

"Hiding from someone?" Paul teased before opening the door to his office. He paused at the doorway, his tone suddenly serious. "Frank, it's important that I talk to Peter. As soon as he walks in, send him to me."

"Will do, Captain," Strenlich said, watching Blaisdell close the door behind him. Something was up. The captain never publicly displayed any emotional attachment towards Peter while they were at the precinct; both feared accusations of favoritism by co-workers. Their relationship was commander and employee at work nothing more, and nothing less.

Frank knew that more than anyone, having witnessed several heated moments between father and son. He had been forced to play the role of arbitrator on more than one occasion when one stubbornly refused to listen to common sense where the other was concerned.

Something big must have happened over lunch for Blaisdell to break that cardinal rule. Strenlich was so deep in thought trying to figure out what it could be that he almost didn't hear Janet Morgan's snide remark.

"Hasn't the fair-haired boy been punished enough today?" She asked in a mocking voice.

"Apparently not. You're still here," Detective Chin spoke up, making no effort to hide his obvious disdain for his co-worker.

Strenlich ignored the barb. Someone needed to knock Morgan down a peg or two, and he had a precinct to run. He walked over to Roger's desk and handed the young detective a piece of paper. "Detective Chin, you get the honor of breaking in a new partner," he said, and called out to a man sitting behind a desk. "Detective Nixon, come meet your partner, Roger Chin."

A man in his late thirties with thinning hair approached the two men. "Hi, I'm James Nixon. No relation to the ex-President. Nice to meet you, Detective Chin." The man introduced himself by shaking his new partner's hand, "I'm sure we will get along just fine. I've heard some great things about this precinct."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Chin," Roger said, shaking his new partner's hand.

"You better find a new source of information, buddy," Detective Morgan answered from her desk.

Roger raised an eyebrow, grinned, and then motioned Nixon forward. He pointed in Morgan's direction as whispered, "She has permanent P.M.S. We try to ignore her most of the time."

"Enough with the formalities. You two get on the street and see if you can solve the Luther case," Frank said, pointing to the top folder on the stack of files he had just dropped on Chin's desk.

"The guy who fell down the flight of stairs?" Roger asked as he began to flip through the folder. With a confused look on his face, he asked, "I thought it was ruled an accident. Didn't a witness say he was drunk when he fell?"

"According to his ex-wife, the man never touched a drop of liquor in his life. Either she was fooled during the marriage, or the witness was lying. I want you two to find out the truth," Frank ordered, as Nixon took the information from Roger and started to read it. "Nicky is doing an autopsy on Luther, and should have the results for you in a few hours."

"While we're waiting on the autopsy results, we'll run by the court house and check the public records to find out if Luther owned anything else of value. If so, it might have been a motive for his murder." Roger glanced up at his partner and flashed a smile. "You driving, or am I?"

"I always drive."

"I like this guy already," Roger commented on their way out of the precinct. They passed Skalany at the front desk as she was picking up her messages.

Mary Margaret introduced herself to the newcomer, and then made herself a cup of coffee before she hurried to her desk.

"Skalany, here's a little something to keep you busy for awhile," Frank said and approached her desk with several case files in his hand, "I didn't want you to feel left out."

"I know! I know! Never let it be said that you never gave me anything," Skalany replied, and then started to go through her messages. "Oh great! Mom's called twice." She sat down, glanced across the aisle at her partner's empty desk, and with a surprised expression on her face, asked, "Peter's not back? That must be some fancy restaurant that Kelly took him to for lunch."

"If you want my opinion, I hope he stays gone and doesn't come back until I'm on vacation. He's driving me crazy with stupid questions that any rookie should know. I think he's doing it on purpose, just to get under my skin. And if I hear one more grumble about how it's undignified for a hot shot cop to be busted down to filing clerk, I'm going to strangle him." Frank stared at the closed door to Blaisdell's office. "I'll never survive a whole week with Peter stuck in here with me. I'm trying to figure out if Blaisdell is punishing him or me."

Mary Margaret covered her amusement by taking a swig of coffee, but quickly regretted the decision when she tasted the hot drink. With a cringe, she declared, "Whoever said this stuff was coffee should be sent up for life." She placed the mug on her desk, looked up, and laughed. "Don't worry Chief. I'll give Peter two days tops, and then the captain will get him out of your hair." Then with a giggle, she added, "Well, what's left of it."

Detective Burt Miller slammed a stack of papers down on his desk, and glared at them. "It's bad enough that Peter gets special treatment around here because of his relationship with the captain. And what happens when he does get caught disobeying orders? Nothing!"

"Detective Miller, I think it's best if you get your mind back on your own business," Strenlich ordered, keeping his voice low and even so not to lose his temper with the man. For months, Miller had been nursing a personal grudge against Peter, claiming the younger detective had assaulted him when he had attempted to arrest Peter's father for escaping from jail.

"You must have forgotten, Burt. Peter's personal life is a sensitive issue that's not open for discussion. You have to treat him with kid gloves because his real _Daddy_ walked out on him. Again!" Janet said, and brutally stabbed the keys on her keyboard, using one finger to symbolize her anger. "If you ask me, it was the only smart thing that reject from the sixties ever did in his whole life. I was getting tired of listening to all those fabricated stories Peter was making up about his old man."

"Peter still turning you down?" Mary Margaret asked tauntingly.

"Caine will be back." Blake said with assurance. Usually the quiet and meek detective was reluctant to get involved in a confrontation, choosing instead to keep to himself. He glanced back at the agitator and added with confidence, "Caine wouldn't have left town unless he had a good reason."

"Really, Blake? Well, I can't wait to hear that reason. I could use a good laugh."

A diabolical smile crept across Mary Margaret's face, and she opened her mouth to comment.

"Skalany," Frank warned, stopping her from launching an insult, "don't even try it."

"Oh don't stop her, Chief," Morgan continued, enjoying the scene she was causing. She stared at Mary Margaret and then smirked. "I guess it must be pretty insulting when someone like Caine rejects you. Isn't that right, Skalany?"

"That's enough, Detective, You requested to be pulled off Vice for a few weeks, so make yourself useful and get to work," Frank growled, his patience finally worn out. Morgan's verbal abuse of Kwai Chang Caine had grown more intense after Blake had innocently revealed Skalany's fondness for the priest by asking if a date had been set. Since that time, Morgan had deliberately gone out of her way to make sarcastic remarks at Skalany's expense. It was rapidly wearing thin, not only with Strenlich, but with most of the other detectives at the precinct as well.

Burt got to his feet, glanced briefly at Morgan who nodded, and then walked out of the precinct.

Frank watched the man leave, wondering what scheme Miller was conspiring now. With that big chip on his shoulder it was only a matter of time before Burt caused the precinct trouble. Maybe he should consult with Blaisdell and see if the old man would consider transferring Miller to another precinct.

"Chief, did Kermit give you the print out that I requested on the Murphy case?" Skalany asked, drawing his attention back to paperwork. "He hasn't given it to me, and I need that information no later than tomorrow."

Frank shook his head. "No, the last thing Kermit handed me was the Kerrigan report yesterday afternoon."

"It's unusual for Kermit to be late. He must be busy."

"He's probably afraid to show his face in public," Morgan put in.

"I know I'm going to hate myself for asking," Skalany said, "but what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Skalany, you're not that naive, are you?" Janet asked, staring at woman as if she were an idiot.

"Apparently I am," the brunette shot back.

"Griffin comes in here one day, gets his own office with no questions asked, and only the captain knows anything about him. For all we know, that computer nerd could be a hired killer with his face plastered on bulletin boards in every post office across this country. I swear I've seen him on America's Most Wanted more than once."

That was it, Strenlich decided. Morgan had to go. Before he could reprimand her, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Kermit's office door was ajar. He immediately wondered if Griffin had heard Morgan's outlandish accusations, and if he would confront her about them if he had.

He turned his attention to Skalany's desk, and noticed that Line One was still lit up. He let out a deep breath, relieved that Blaisdell had been tied up with a phone call and hadn't overheard the commotion, or all hell would have broken loose. If they were lucky, Kermit had been in the captain's office as well.

"And since Captain Blaisdell hired Kermit personally," Morgan continued, "I'm beginning to wonder if he doesn't have a few skeletons hiding in his closet as well. I'm sure having a blind wife comes in handy. It shouldn't be too hard to fool her. Have you ever wondered how he could afford that house on just a Captain's salary?"

Someone gasped at the accusation.

"Detective Morgan!" Frank shouted, impervious at who heard him now. Annie Blaisdell was a close personal friend and nobody would insult her while he was alive. "You better thank whatever God you pray to that you are a lady because if you were a man, I would have already punched your lights out."

"She's no lady," Skalany replied, the hostility back in her voice. "Not even Caine could find a decent bone in her body."

"Defending your lover, Skalany?" Janet asked, taunting the woman with an evil smile. "Why? Didn't he leave town without telling you? Maybe Peter's daddy found someone else to impress."

"You bitch!" Mary Margaret jumped to her feet, ready to attack the woman. "I'm not going to just stand by and let you attack Caine or Peter anymore. From now on, every time you open your mouth, it's going to be slapped."

"What's the matter? The truth hurt?"

Frank grabbed Skalany's arm, restraining her from striking the other woman. "Detective Morgan, gather your things and get out of here. Starting tomorrow night, you are back on Vice, third shift."

"Gladly," Morgan replied, picking up her purse and ignoring the stares from the other detectives in the bullpen. "I'm getting sick of the special privileges that certain individuals receive at this precinct, and all the fraternizing that goes on behind the scenes. I don't blame Burt one bit if he follows through with his threat to bring this to Commissioner Cooper's attention."

"Let's get back to work, people. Contrary to what the politicians are saying on television, crime isn't on vacation." Strenlich said and released Mary Margaret, sighing as he glanced at the woman. "Skalany, I don't know if I should reward you or…"

"Give her a medal, Chief," Blake interrupted, cracking a smile at the duo. "You don't know how long I have been wanting to do that."

Kermit had been summonsed to Blaisdell's office, and had overheard Detective Morgan's remarks as he made his way to see the captain. He had ignored what she said, figuring Strenlich could handle the woman. If not, he laughed to himself; he had ways of making her eat every word she had said.

As he waited impatiently for Paul to get off the phone, Kermit wished he had his laptop with him. Nothing irritated him more than waiting, and with nothing to do but stare at Blaisdell, a laptop would have been a welcome sight. He started to get up, but Blaisdell held up his forefinger, indicating he wanted him to stay.

After a couple of minutes, Paul hung up the phone and looked across the desk. "Sorry about that Kermit, but the mayor kept talking and, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't hang up on him."

"One of the drawbacks of command," Kermit commented. He noticed the smile that had suddenly appeared on his friend's face. "You look like the cat who swallowed the canary. I take it something has happened that's put you in a good mood."

"To borrow the phrase of someone I know, 'Oh Yeah!'"

"Find your own phrases, Paul. That one's taken." Kermit stood up, placed both hands on the desk, and leaned over it. "Why do I think the title Grandfather is in your future?"

"Not yet, but hopefully that will change soon," Paul said, and took a deep breath before coming to the point. "I guess there's no easy way to tell you this except to come out and say it." Blaisdell paused again, his blue eyes sparkling with intensity. "Michael's alive."

"Michael who?" Kermit asked.

"My son!" Paul announced as he raised both hands in the air with excitement that Kermit hadn't seen him display in years. The captain jumped up, rushed around the desk, and pulled the younger man into a bear hug. Just as quickly he backed away, and nervously cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Kermit. I'm just-"

"Excited?" Kermit guessed, but prayed silently that he had heard wrong. "Are you sure that it's Michael? I mean, your Michael?"

"Of course I mean my son. Who else would I mean?" Paul said. He paced the room several times before he stopped, but the excitement remained. "He looks great, Kermit! Annie and I spent several hours over lunch with him this afternoon. We decided to wait until we had a chance to tell the kids Michael's alive before he visited, but we plan to have him over for dinner soon."

Kermit barely listened to what Paul was saying. Instead his attention drifted back to Blaisdell's son. How was it possible that Michael Blaisdell got out of prison? He was certain he had arranged it so that the younger Blaisdell never saw the light of day. He gritted his teeth in an effort to control his anger. Somebody had screwed up big time. He glanced at Paul and pretended to be just as ecstatic as his friend. "Michael give you any clue where he's been?"

"Yes. He said the CIA faked his death so they could use him on a Special Forces mission whose objective was to overthrow the government of a certain third-world country. Unfortunately, the mission failed and the team was captured. Years later, the few that remained alive were rescued and put under protective custody in order to safeguard them against retaliation. They were just now allowed to contact their families"

"That's great news, Paul. I can't wait to see him. We have a lot of catching up to do," Kermit replied honestly. The only difference was, Blaisdell believed he was sincere; only Kermit knew otherwise.

He returned to his own office, shut the door, and then emailed a colleague who owed him a few favors. Within minutes he received a reply specifying a time and place where he could rendezvous with his contact. He leaned in his chair and plotted his next move. He had to act quickly or the decision he made years ago would haunt him the rest of his life.

For the third time in less than five minutes, Peter swung his chair back around and stared at Blaisdell's closed door. Running a nervous hand through his hair he wondered how much longer he could stall before he would have to go inside that office. Strenlich had told him that Paul had wanted to see him immediately. That was ten minutes ago. He glanced at Mary Margaret and asked, "Skalany, are you sure the captain didn't know that-"

"For the third time, no, Peter," Mary Margaret interrupted him. She pointed at the closed door and almost smiled. "Just go before I drag you in there myself."

The door behind them opened and Strenlich's mumbling voice came to an abrupt halt. Heavy footsteps approached, and Peter closed his eyes expecting the worst.

"Frank, I'm leaving for the day. I've got some personal business that needs my immediate attention." Blaisdell placed his hands on Peter's shoulders, leaned over, and whispered, "Peter, I want you to come by the house. Be there around eight tonight. It's important, son. Don't be late."

The captain then followed Strenlich to the front desk, where Broderick was standing.

Peter watched his foster father worriedly. ' Son? He never calls me son at work unless...' Something had to be wrong.

He jumped out of his seat and rushed to Blaisdell's side. Ignoring the stares he was getting, he grabbed Paul's arm and frantically asked, "Paul, what's wrong? Who's hurt? It's not Mom is it? Kelly? Carolyn?"

"Peter, calm down. Everyone's safe and nothing is wrong," Paul said with a smile that calmed his son's chaotic thoughts. Patting the young man across the back Blaisdell added, "Something has come up and we need to talk privately." The captain glanced around the bullpen, and lowered his voice. "There's too many distractions here, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, talk. Sure," Peter muttered and then returned to his desk. At least nobody was hurt; that was a relief. He dropped down in his seat and tried to concentrate on his work, but his mind started to wonder.

'What is so important that Paul wants to talk privately at the house? And why was he wearing that goofy smile? He knows something that I…' he paused. 'Naw, it can't be that. Nobody knew I…' his eyes flew open. 'I'm dead.'

Kermit walked across the parking lot towards his prized Corvair. He came to an abrupt halt and glared at the idiot who had the audacity to sit on the hood of his car. Furious, he picked up his pace until he stood at the front of the vehicle. "You've got two seconds to get your sorry ass off my car before I blow your brains across the asphalt."

"Tactful as ever, eh, Griffin?" the unwelcome visitor asked, flashing a wicked grin as he took his time sliding off the hood. "What, no hug for a long lost friend? No happy to see you, Michael, or you look great buddy? Or, what about something closer to the truth, like, I hoped you were dead."

Kermit stared at him.

Michael folded his arms and leaned against the car. "What's the matter, Griffin? Cat got your tongue?" he asked, when the detective failed to respond.

Kermit reached out and grabbed a hand full of Michael's hair so fast that the other man didn't have time to react. "I spent almost two decades keeping your nasty little secret," he said, jerking Michael's head back. "I'm not about to let you walk right back into your family's life and let them find out what kind of trash you really are." He released Michael with a violent shove before getting into the car. Glaring back at his adversary, Kermit started the engine. "If you're still in town tomorrow, I'll kill you."

"I'll make it easy for you, Griffin," Michael said, and moved to the passenger side of the car. He leaned inside the open convertible. "I'm going to be at Chandler's tomorrow night. Let's see if you still have the guts to execute someone in a public place."

"Michael!" Blaisdell called to his son.

"Hi, Dad." Michael greeted his father, and then glanced briefly at Kermit. "Kermit and I were just catching up on old times."

"I need to talk to you, Michael. I'm sure Kermit will understand if your reunion is postponed until later," Paul said, waiting for a familiar nod from Griffin before he moved towards his son. If you can, I'd like for you to be at the house by eight tonight. Peter's off in a couple of hours, and that will give Annie and myself some time to talk to him and your sisters about your sudden resurrection." At Michael's affirmative nod, he said good-bye to the two men, got into his car, and drove away.

"I guess what they say is true: Paul Blaisdell has gotten soft. Either that or my father is overjoyed to have his prodigal son home again. It's almost like he worships the ground I walk on," Michael laughed, enjoying the moment. "So go ahead and tell Dad what really happened, Kermit. Trouble is, I don't think the old man will believe a word you say."

Kermit gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands but refused to be baited into a fight with Michael Blaisdell, especially in front of the 101st's parking lot where there would be witnesses. He knew how Michael operated. The master instigator would goad his enemy into becoming enraged, then use that anger to his own advantage, hoping it would give him the opportunity to kill or destroy them. That M.O. included creating the stir in a public place so there would be witnesses who could verify that he was the injured party.

"If you think I am going to just stand by and let you destroy Blaisdell and his family, you're wrong."

"Family? Griffin, don't tell me you've mellowed since I've been away," Michael taunted, "Did my old man put a choke chain around your neck and take what little backbone you had left?"

Hearing voices, Michael turned and saw several police officers walking out of the precinct and heading towards the parking lot. If he played his cards just right, those same officers would be in hearing range to witness what he had in mind. He had to think of something that would incite Griffin, but what?

He smiled, knowing the one thing that would push him right over the edge. "Oh I forgot. You don't have much of a family anymore, do you? A sister you hardly visit, and a dead brother who was killed by a good friend of yours. What was his name?" He paused, pretending to try to remember a name as he tapped his chin to further add to the charade. Finally, he slapped his hands together and grinned like he just won the final round on Jeopardy. "Larsen. Larsen was his name. He's the one who put David out of his misery, wasn't he?"

Almost kicking the door open, Kermit climbed over the hood of his car and slammed Michael into the side panel. "How did you find out about David?"

Michael's just grinned, infuriating Griffin further. The computer expert repeatedly shoved the man against the car's frame, screaming, "Answer me!"

"We can end this game tomorrow night at Chandlers like originally planned, or," he laughed, nodding in the direction of three uniform police officers approaching in their direction, "you can explain this little shoving game of yours to them."

Kermit stepped back and released his intended victim, and then turned to the approaching police officers. "Everything's under control. It's just a little misunderstanding."

"You sure, Detective?" one of the police officers asked, his fingertips touching his holstered gun.

"Oh yeah," Kermit said, and then glared back at Michael. "He's leaving."

"Tomorrow night, Griffin," Michael said, as he opened his car door, and climbed inside. He started the engine, and stuck his head out the window. Pointing at the Corvair, he laughed. "What's the world coming to when your car isn't safe in a police parking lot?"

Kermit committed Michael's license's number to memory before he disappeared into the afternoon traffic. He then glanced at his own car and discovered that the right front tire had been slashed.


	3. Chapter 3

PAST REGRETS

Kaleidopy

III

Stepping out of the elevator, Roger and James searched for the suite number that was listed on their paper. "If we had known it was the building across the street, it would have saved us a trip to the courthouse," Chin grumbled. He was the first to find the correct suite and quickly opened the door.

A woman lifted her head and greeted the two men. "May I help you, gentlemen?"

"Yes, uh, Miss…" Nixon paused, and looked down at the nameplate on the desk. "Miss Applegate," he finished, and showed her his badge. "I'm Detective Nixon and this is my partner, Detective Chin. We would like to see the owner of this company."

"That would be Mr. Davis. Let me page him." She picked up the phone and dialed a number, and waited for her employer to answer. "Mr. Davis, there are two police detectives here who would like to meet with you." She paused. "Yes, sir, I will do that," she said and hung up the phone. "Gentlemen, Mr. Davis will meet with you. He's in the last office on the right."

Roger gave the woman a slight nod before he and Nixon walked to the office she indicated. He knocked on the wooden door and waited until he heard an invitation to enter.

Robert Davis stood up as the two visitors entered his office, and motioned for the two men to sit down in the chairs in front of his desk. "What can I do for you, detectives?"

"Mr. Davis, did you know the previous owner of this building?"

"No, we dealt with each other by way of a bank lender," Robert said. He sat back down in his chair and began to put away several pieces of paper that were strewn across his desk. "In fact, I was shocked that he sold me this building and several warehouses well below the market value."

"Yes, we noticed that as well," Nixon said, jotting notes down on a small pad. He changed his line of questioning. "Mr. Luther died the other night. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I saw that on TV. Tragic."

"We have reason to suspect that Mr. Luther was murdered."

Shocked, Robert stared at the two detectives. "Murdered? I had no idea. Of course my company and I will do everything in our power to cooperate with your investigation."

"Thank you, Mr. Davis. Your cooperation is appreciated," Roger said, as he got to his feet and shook Robert's hand. "We'll be getting in touch with you later. Thank you for your time." He moved to the door and then turned back around. "Is there any way that you can give us a tour of those warehouses today?"

"Let me check with my partner first. He's getting the security system installed this afternoon," Robert said. He left the two men and walked across the hall to Michael's office. He quickly closed the door and spoke in a panicked voice, "We got problems."

"Really? I haven't noticed a problem," Michael said, and leaned back in his chair. He had listened to the entire conversation between Davis and the two detectives through the high-tech intercom system that ran throughout the building. "Let's play nice and show them the warehouses. Of course, we can't guarantee they'll leave the building alive."

"Mike, these guys are cops."

"And from my father's precinct too. So, what's your point?" Michael asked, and folded his hands together. "I wonder what my old man would do if he lost two of his officers in one day?"

"Put an ad in the paper for help," Davis answered sarcastically.

"Don't give up your day job, Robert. You would starve to death as a comedian," Michael said, and picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Mr. Smith, come to my office and make sure Ms. Applegate tends to our guests. Have her serve them coffee or something." He hung up the phone and waited until his electronic expert appeared. "It's time for you to earn your paycheck, William. I need a dummy warehouse set up in fifteen minutes. Can you do it?"

"It depends," the man answered. "How legit do you want it to look?"

"Enough to make it appear it's in use," Michael replied. "I also need it to be in an isolated area."

"No problem, I have just the place. It's not much, but I can have someone place a few hundred crates filled with some fake forms and leaflets in the building. It should be enough to convince anyone that we own it. That is, if you just want to show it off."

"That's exactly why I want the place."

Smith quickly wrote down the address on a piece of paper and gave it to Michael. "It's a ten minute drive from here, but stall for thirty minutes so I can get the right man on the job."

Michael glanced at the paper and then stuffed it into his pocket. "I see Robert was right about your abilities, Mr. Smith."

"As the old saying goes, you get what you pay for," William stated then reached inside his jacket and pulled out an object, the size of a jewelry gift box and tossed it to Michael. "Someone dropped this off for you. They said it came in two weeks earlier than expected."

Michael unwrapped the gift, revealing a set of car keys. "My new toy - a black Maserati, compliments of our new clients." He pushed himself out of his chair. "William, you have your orders. Robert, you and I shouldn't keep our guests waiting. It's bad for business."

The two men returned to Robert's office. The detectives stood up as Robert started to introduce his partner. "This is my partner…."

"Michael," Blaisdell said, interrupting the introduction. "Just call me Michael. I always prefer to be addressed by my given name. I find it makes things go a lot smoother if everyone isn't so formal." He glanced at Davis and then said, "Robert tells me you'd like to see the warehouse. Since I'm the only one who knows the new security layout, why don't I take you over?"

Robert added, "If you don't have any objections, gentlemen, you can follow behind us in your car. We have an appointment with a potential client in two hours, and it's critical to our business that we're not late for the meeting."

"We won't take too much of your time," Nixon replied, as he opened the door. "After you, gentlemen."

Fifteen minutes later, Michael and Robert pulled their rented Ford Crown Victoria into the front of the warehouse building. As Michael got out of the vehicle, Robert pulled out his gun. "Remember our deal, Mike, I get the first target."

"You can kill both of them for all I care," Michael replied angrily. He glanced inside the car's back seat. "Wallace, make sure you don't move until you hear those cops entering the building. Understand?"

"I understand, Mike," the man stretched out in the back seat's floorboard answered.

Davis tucked the weapon into his belt when he heard the sound of a car engine. He got out of the car and waved at the two detectives as their vehicle came to a stop.

"Call in our location, James," Roger said to his partner as he climbed out of the car. He looked around the area, watching as the two businessmen went inside the dark warehouse. The location was isolated from the other warehouses in the area. He glanced at Nixon; a suspicious look crossed his features. "This doesn't feel right. It could be an ambush."

"Strange, I was thinking the same thing," Nixon admitted as he pulled out his gun and joined Roger in front of the car. "Keep your eyes open."

With their guns drawn, they walked to the same door where the two businessmen had entered the building and followed them inside.

"Whoa, don't shoot!" Michael shouted, lifting his hands in the air when he saw the two detectives entering the warehouse with their weapons pointed in his direction. "I don't know if Luther was paying you protection money, but I don't play that game."

Nixon lowered his gun slightly, as Roger moved to the opened crates and began inspecting the contents. "What is your company storing in this warehouse?"

"Medical supplies for hospitals, private doctors, and health centers," Michael answered. He lifted the lid off a crate and pulled out two dark containers, both the size of shoeboxes. He opened the first box and showed the detective the contents.

"It's just medical forms and leaflets," Michael declared, and walked over to where Roger Chin was standing. He glanced upwards, nodded once, and then quickly opened another crate. "See, nothing but medical forms in this one too."

"I've got something for you to see!" Robert shouted. Before either detective could move, he fired his gun several times. One of the bullets tore into Nixon's back, spinning the cop around before he hit the ground.

Roger never had time to drop the box he was holding as a bullet struck him in the chest and another struck his right leg. He fell to the ground, knowing he had to feign death if he wanted to save himself. Through his pain, he still managed to pinpoint his attacker's location. The man was standing on the catwalk, lowering the rifle in his hand.

He tried to lower his breathing rate in an effort to remain conscious, but the pain increased, becoming unbearable. Darkness mercifully claimed him.

Davis stepped over Nixon's fallen body and studied him. The wounded man's moan caused Robert to look over at Michael, a shocked expression across his face. " I can't believe this! He's not dead!" In one swift motion, he fired his weapon, making sure the man would never cause him any more problems.

He moved to check on the other officer, but Michael stopped him. "We don't have time. Leave the bodies where they are. The cops will find them after receiving an anonymous phone call."

"What's the hurry?" Robert asked after the two were in the car and driving away from the warehouse.

"I don't want to be late for dinner with the family," Michael said and switched on the radio. He began singing along with the song as the car entered the flow of traffic.

Peter parked his black Corvette in the Blaisdells' driveway, and glanced up at the early evening sky. Ominous dark clouds were gathering, but the rain was holding off, at least for now. He grabbed his jacket just in case he might need it later, and got out of the car.

He was walking around the house to the back door and noticed Carolyn sitting in the swing on the deck. He watched his sister for a long moment before climbing up the steps to join her. He stopped by the pile of firewood that was stacked in the corner and pretended to inspect it. "It's bad news, isn't it? That's why you're out here by yourself. If it's bad news, I don't want to know about it. I'm outta here."

"You and your suspicious nature," Carolyn teased, as she stood up and approached her brother. "And before you get the chance to ask me again, no, it isn't bad news." Taking him by the arm, she led him over to the swing and pulled him down into it with her. "Kelly and I already know what's going on, and I'll be honest - it's both shocking and exciting."

"Sounds like a headline for the National Enquirer."

"Well, this would be on the front page right next to UFO Lands on The White House Lawn with Elvis Aboard," she said, and they both started laughing.

"You two want to share the joke?" Paul asked as he opened the door, stepped out onto the deck, and lit a cigar. Annie had banned smoking in the house; even his private den was now off limits. He had decided to risk smoking one outside, but upon hearing his wife's footsteps, quickly dropped the cigar and crushed it with his shoe before kicking it out into the yard.

Watching her father trying to hide the evidence, Carolyn elbowed her brother. "Twenty dollars says he doesn't get away with it."

"Thirty," Peter said, upping the bet.

"Fifty says I do," Paul bragged. "What makes you think I don't get away with it all the time?"

"Get away with what? Sneaking a cigar?" Annie asked as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You should know better, sweetheart. I can smell it on your clothes."

Both Carolyn and Peter erupted with laughter, but before they could dish out any more teasing, the phone rang.

"Saved by the bell," Paul muttered under his breath.

Seconds later, Kelly came to the screen door and announced, "Carolyn, it's Todd. For the fifth time."

"If you crack a joke about how we should buy stock in the phone company, I'm going to slap you," Carolyn said. She watched her brother closely, waiting for him to make a joke. When none came, she went inside.

"Too easy," Peter yelled out.

"Peter, would you prefer to go inside or stay out here?" Annie asked once she heard the door slide shut. She reached out her hand to feel for the swing.

"Stay out here, if it's ok with you," he answered, taking his mother's arm and helping her down beside him. Both of his parents looked as if they were waiting for the other one to begin the conversation, and the silence was wearing on Peter's nerves. "Why do I feel like a turkey on Thanksgiving day?"

"Paul, why don't you grab us something to drink before we start," Annie suggested, then ran her hand through her son's hair. Hearing her husband's heavy footsteps retreat, she gently pulled Peter's head down to let it rest on her shoulder. "Baby, I want you to promise me that you will give us a chance to talk this out before you leave here tonight."

"Mom?" he asked, growing uneasier by the minute.

Annie reached up to caress his face, a gesture that always relaxed him. "Peter, promise me."

There was no way he could refuse her. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I promise," he said, and then drew her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Annie returned the squeeze. "Thank you, honey."

The door opened and Paul stepped back outside. He tossed a beer to his son, then grabbed a chair and pulled it towards the swing. The older man cleared his throat. "Peter, how much do you remember about Michael?"

"Your son?"

Paul nodded.

Peter remembered clearly the only time Paul had ever mentioned Michael. Peter had been seventeen, and the conversation had been a brief one. Peter had gotten the distinct impression that Michael was a closed subject where Paul was concerned. Why was he bringing that painful topic up now, he wondered. "You told me Michael was killed during a mission with you overseas, and that it happened a few years before you met and married Mom."

"Yes, that was what I was led to believe," Paul said. He put his beer down and took a deep breath. His blue eyes misted as he reached out and squeezed his son's hand. "Peter, I just found out that Michael is alive."

Stunned into silence, Peter blinked several times trying to let the shock wear off. "Th… that's great, Paul," he stuttered, finally managing to get the words out of his mouth. A cold chill traveled down his back, causing him to tremble. Annie must have detected the action because she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. He glanced back at Paul and forced a smile, struggling to regain his composure. "You have your son back."

"No," Paul said, cupping Peter's face with his large hands and pulling the young man closer. "Sons. I have sons. Nothing is going to change between us, Peter. I swear. Nothing will change."

"How can you say that, Paul? This isn't just some old acquaintance from your past. It's Michael. He's your son. Everything is going to change now that he's back in your life." Peter tried to turn his head, unable to look into the eyes of the man who had been his father almost half his life, but Paul refused to release him.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Peter. Michael has always held a special place in my heart. But, we've been separated for a long time, and the man he has become is a stranger to me. I don't know him and he doesn't know me. It's going to take some time to rebuild our relationship, and I want my youngest son to share in that experience. I want you by my side."

Peter shook his head, unable to believe Paul, no matter how much he wanted to.

Not surprised by his son's stubbornness, Paul tried a different approach. "I understand how you're feeling, Peter, believe me. When Caine came back into your life, I was terrified that I was going to lose you because he was your natural father. I was afraid you wouldn't need me any more because you had him. I was jealous and hurt and scared. Annie finally reminded me of something I had known deep down all along: that you are a very giving person who is more than capable of loving two fathers, and just because Caine had returned didn't mean you were going to love me any less. That's what I want you to try to remember in this situation with Michael."

Despite Paul's heartfelt words, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. Blood was blood, and Michael would be taking his rightful place as Paul's son, no matter what Paul was trying to tell him.

It never failed. Whenever he felt comfortable, loved and appreciated something always came along and destroyed that stability.

Michael's return had brought back a wave of painful memories, from his father's shocking confession that their reunion was just an accident to the day over four months ago when he discovered his father was leaving to find his path. Why didn't Kwai Chang Caine want him? Had he done something wrong that made the priest leave? Had he somehow dishonored his father or the family name and made Caine ashamed of him? Not only had he lost one father, now he was going to lose the other one as well.

Only one solution came to mind: he had to get away. He gently removed Annie's arm and kissed her hand as he made an effort to stand. "I've got something to do, and I don't want to intrude on Michael's homecoming. I think it's best if I let you and the rest of your family get reacquainted."

Paul turned his son's face upwards, so that they were staring into each other's eyes. "Do you think so little of me and your mother that you believe our love for you could ever change? No matter what, Peter, you'll always be a part of this family."

"I'm an outsider. I don't belong to you. I never did."

"Peter Caine, how can you say that?" Annie demanded, speaking for the first time since the conversation started. "If that's the kind of logic you're using, then I must be an outsider too."

Peter didn't want to argue anymore. He desperately wanted to leave so he could sort out his chaotic thoughts. He was rapidly losing what little control he had over his emotions. Why couldn't they understand how he felt?

"Look at me, Peter," Paul instructed, wanting to make sure he had his son's full attention.

The young man refused to obey, hoping Paul would leave him alone if he didn't answer. He blinked his eyes, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"I said look at me," Paul repeated, his voice rising along with his frustration.

Peter couldn't help but obey, any more than he could stop the tears from falling. Why couldn't he be more like his father and have some control over his emotions? No wonder Caine had left. He was a complete disappointment, a failure.

Paul wasted no time in wiping the moisture away with the back of his own hand. "Have I ever made any difference between you and your sisters because they were born to me and you weren't?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"I know you too well, kid. You're feeling guilty because you think you've replaced Michael," Paul said, surprising Peter with the cold-hearted truth. "You're family Peter. How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing will ever change that fact."

"Daddy, you have a phone call." Kelly said, sticking her head out the door. "He said it was important."

"Tell them I'll call them back later."

Kelly was only gone a few seconds before she returned. "He said he's the Mayor."

"Damn, what does he want now?" Paul huffed, before getting to his feet. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, son," he said, and left to take the phone call.

"Girls, you might as well come out," Annie said, knowing they had been listening to every word that had been said.

"We couldn't help but overhear," Kelly admitted, as the young women made their way out onto the deck.

Carolyn continued over to where Annie and Peter were sitting and forced them to separate by squeezing in between them on the swing. "The last memory I have of Michael was at Christmas when I was eight. I remember it so clearly because it was the only time of the year he would show up." She paused long enough to take her brother's hand. "Peter, you're the only brother I have ever known. No matter how this turns out, you will always be my brother."

"And I don't remember Michael at all," Kelly added, and then glanced over her shoulder before she lowered her voice. "Why is Michael showing up now? I wonder if he wants something, and if he does, what?"

"Kelly!" Annie said, her tone reprimanding her youngest daughter. "How can you say that about your own brother? You sound like a spoiled brat."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound like I was jealous. I'm not," Kelly said, trying to defend her accusation. "I just have a bad feeling about this and I can't explain why."

"Just give Michael a chance," Annie said. "I'm sure this is as difficult for him as it is for all of us." She then turned her attention to her son, concerned over how quiet Peter had become. She placed her head on his shoulder, and immediately became even more alarmed. "Peter, you're trembling."

"I'm sorry. I've got to go, Mom," Peter said, getting to his feet before she could react.

"Peter, don't do this!" Carolyn screamed, her plea falling on deaf ears.

"Kelly, get your father. Now!" Annie shouted, reaching for the railing as she stood up and steadied herself. She listened to the retreating footsteps of her son and knew they had to stop him before he reached his vehicle.

"I'll go after him," Carolyn said, and rushed down the steps as her sister hurried back inside the house. By the time she reached the front yard, the black corvette had pulled into the street. She ran down the driveway only to see the car disappearing into the distance.

Kermit glared at the computer screen debating between knocking the monitor off the desk or pulling out the desert eagle and blowing a hole in the screen. He had checked, and rechecked birth and death certificates, social security numbers, and passports, and still he had been unable to find either an electronic or paper trail on Michael Blaisdell's sudden resurrection. Before he could decide which punishment to inflict on the machine, someone knocked on his door, disturbing his concentration.

"What?" he answered with a frustrated growl.

The door opened slightly and a young officer stuck his head inside the small office. "Phone call on line three, sir." The man left without waiting for an answer.

Kermit picked up the phone, more than ready to leave the information highway behind him. "Griffin."

"Kermit, I need a favor. A big one," Paul said, not quite able to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I need you to stop whatever you are doing and find Peter. He took off before I could stop him."

"The kid didn't take the news too well, did he?"

"No, but I thought we were making progress until the mayor phoned and I had to leave to take the call. Next thing I knew, Kelly was screaming that Peter was leaving." He sighed deeply. "Kermit, you know I would never ask but…"

"Paul," Kermit interrupted. "I owe you a few favors. I'll find him."

"I would do it myself, but Michael should be here any minute and I don't want to leave Annie to handle his homecoming by herself. It's been a long time since he's seen the girls and it could be a little awkward for everyone at first," Paul explained. He paused and then added, "Kermit, look for water."

"Paul, I'm looking for Peter not the little mermaid." Hearing the familiar sigh, Kermit knew his friend hadn't appreciated the joke. "I'll check the lake first and call you when I find him." He hung up the phone, grabbed his so-called 'disk protector', and left the precinct without saying a word.

Paul sat alone in his private den staring at an old family photo album and reminiscing about the past. He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the knock on the open door.

"Dad?"

He glanced up from the photographs and saw his oldest daughter standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. He pulled his reading glasses off. "Sorry, Carolyn, I didn't hear you." He held up a picture and showed it to her, explaining his lapse of attention. "I've been looking at some old pictures of you and your brothers and sister."

"You've been hiding in here for almost an hour. I figured you didn't want to be disturbed," Carolyn said, entering the room. She glanced down at the different photographs scattered across the large desk, and then walked to the window. "We have company. There's a very expensive black car pulling up in the driveway."

Paul glanced at his watch and blinked, shocked to discover how fast the time had passed. "I didn't realize it was that late!" he said, and joined his daughter by the window to get a look at the car she had mentioned. He watched as Michael got out of the vehicle and turned on the alarm.

"He's got good taste in cars, I'll say that about him," Carolyn commented. She touched her father's arm. "Still no word from Kermit?"

"No, but I'm sure once he's found Peter he'll call," he said, trying to reassure himself as well as his daughter.

"I know my brother, Dad. He tends to fly off the handle when he's upset, but once he's calmed down and had time to think things over, he'll be back," she promised, and gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

"I hope you're right, honey," Paul replied as he watched her leave. He smiled to himself as he thought about the bond Carolyn and Peter shared. Even as teenagers, they had repeatedly protected one other, and that closeness had continued into adulthood.

"Paul?" Annie called down the hall, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Coming," he answered. He took a deep breath and walked out into the hall, preparing himself for a reunion with his long-lost son.

Carolyn stood inside the front door watching her father and the tall stranger hug each other. She tried to give Annie a brief description of Michael's appearance, but her eyes kept drifting back to the car he had driven to the house. "He's driving an expensive car, so he must be rich. I wonder how long it's going to take Kelly to hit him up for some money?" she asked with a laugh.

Annie sighed deeply. "Don't give your sister any ideas, Carolyn."

"Here they come," she announced before she opened the door to allow both men inside the house. She glanced momentarily at Michael then turned to her father and cleared her throat.

"Michael, this beautiful young woman is your sister Carolyn," Paul said, wrapping his arm around his daughter's waist.

Carolyn managed a weak smile and offered her hand. "Hi," she replied, her voice a little nervous.

"I know it has been awhile, but how about a hug anyway," Michael said, and then pulled her into his arms. A few seconds later, he released Carolyn and turned in Annie's direction. "Hello, Annie. It's good to see you again."

"Welcome home, Michael," Annie smiled, reaching out for him. After she embraced him, she announced, "Dinner will be ready in an hour. If you will excuse me, I need to get back to the kitchen."

"Do you need my help?" Carolyn asked.

"No, you spend some time with your brother," Annie said. She squeezed her husband's arm, and then disappeared down the hall.

Carolyn took Michael's hand. "It's been a very long time. The last time I saw you, I was eight. I can't wait to get reacquainted."

"Same here," Michael said, and glanced around the house. "Where are Kelly and Peter?"

"Kelly's gone to the store and should be back shortly," Paul explained, leading the small group into the living room. "I might as well warn you: she doesn't warm up to strangers as easily as Carolyn, and Peter isn't here. If he does show up, try to give him some space. This is all new to him."

"If? You mean there's a possibility he won't be joining us?" Michael asked. When both his father and sister nodded, he rolled his eyes. "Great. I've got a jealous brother and a suspicious little sister to add to my growing family. This is going to be a fun evening."

"Peter's not jealous, Michael," Carolyn said. The phone rang, interrupting the conversation. "That's Todd calling long distance," she said, when Annie called out her name. "I'll talk to you later, Michael."

"Let's go to my den and talk," Paul suggested.

Annie strolled to the dining room. She started pacing, rubbing her hands up and down her arms trying to warm herself. After hugging Michael, she had a feeling that something wasn't right. Where most trusted their eyes, Annie trusted her instincts, and right now her instincts were screaming that something was amiss with her new stepson, Michael Blaisdell. She decided to put her suspicions aside for Paul's sake, but Annie promised herself that she would not let her guard down until Michael earned her trust.

Kermit quietly closed the door of the green Corvair and walked down to the lake. When he had spotted the black Corvette parked by the embankment he knew he had struck pay dirt. It didn't take him long to find Peter. He was sitting down under a tree staring out at nothing.

"You have a lot of people worried about you, Peter."

"Go away, Kermit."

Ignoring the order, Kermit sat down and stared at his friend through his green tinted sunglasses. "I never figured you for a quitter, Peter."

"Quitter?" Peter laughed sarcastically. "You don't know what you're talking about, Kermit." He picked up a rock and tossed it into the lake.

"Michael Blaisdell."

That got Peter's attention. "You know Paul's son?"

"Oh, yeah," Kermit said, keeping his voice emotionless in order to prevent Peter from discovering just how well he knew him. Michael was his problem, not Peter's. "Michael and I worked together with Paul years ago until he was killed, or so we were told."

"Why did he wait all these years before letting Paul know he was still alive?" Peter asked. He stood up and glanced at the lake before looking back at him. "I'm happy for Paul, but right now I don't know what the hell to think."

"Let me guess: you feel like Michael's return has cost you your place in Paul's life." Kermit pulled his glasses off and stared hard at his friend, daring him to deny the accusation. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Peter lowered his eyes and refused to answer, knowing he could never tell a convincing lie. Instead, he turned his attention back to the lake.

Kermit decided to put his friend's mind at ease once and for all. "From the time Paul first told me about this scrawny kid he met at the orphanage, it's been Peter this and Peter that. He's never considered you anything less than his son." He returned his glasses to their normal position and joined the young man by the lake. "He would puff up like a bullfrog every time he spoke your name, and, believe me, that was a lot."

Peter released a heavy sigh and said, "I'm sure there were times he regretted taking me into his home."

"He never mentioned it, Peter, and I would know if he felt that way. Paul told me things he never shared with anyone else, not even Annie," Kermit admitted, remembering snippets of certain conversations they had had over the years. "About eleven years ago, we were lost in the middle of a South American jungle with no hope of a rescue. To make things worse, it was midnight and pouring rain. Paul passed the time by telling me the latest antics of his two oldest kids. I think he called you both juvenile delinquents."

Peter stared at him intently, eager to learn something, anything, about his foster father's secret past.

Kermit continued with the story, a little humor working its way into his voice. "He mentioned catching you and Carolyn sampling a few of those little bottles in his liquor cabinet. I imagine he had a few choice words for the two of you."

Peter's face turned red. "I can't believe he told you that."

"Yeah, and a lot more," Kermit said. He approached the young man and slapped him across the back. "He loves you, kid."

Whatever Peter was about to say was lost when the older man's cellular phone started ringing.

"What?" Kermit asked, noticing the smirk on his friend's face.

"Girlfriend, Kermit?" Peter teased.

"It's my computer calling," he replied sarcastically before speaking into the phone. "Griffin."

He listened without emotion, and after the conversation ended delivered the information in the same method. "Peter, that was the precinct. There's been a shooting. Two officers were ambushed."

The blood drained from Peter's face. "What? Who?"

Kermit reached out and grabbed the younger man. "Roger and his new partner, James Nixon."

Peter closed his eyes fearing the worst. "Are they..."

"No word yet. Strenlich is on his way to the hospital. Paul's line is busy; the precinct hasn't been able to reach him," Kermit said. He released his hold on Peter and issued some sound advice. "Pull yourself together. It's going to be a long night."

Peter shook his head, acknowledging the wisdom in Griffin's words. "I've got to tell Paul."

"We'll tell him together," Kermit said, and started up the hill with Peter trailing along behind him. Just before they reached the Corvair, Peter suddenly sprinted by him, got into the Corvette, and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Kelly Blaisdell turned off the car's engine and sat behind the wheel watching the house. When Annie mentioned buying a bottle of wine for the special dinner, Kelly happily volunteered for the errand, using it as an excuse to leave the house to delay her meeting with Michael. `Pull yourself together,' she chided herself. 'He's your brother for heaven's sake.'

She slowly climbed out of the car, grabbed the wine bottle, and was reaching for the door to close it when she heard the familiar sound of Peter's Corvette roaring down the road. By the time she slammed the vehicle's door, the Corvette pulled into the driveway followed closely by Kermit's green Corvair.

Kelly watched her brother and the mysterious Kermit get out of their vehicles and head in her direction.

"Kelly, tell Paul we need to see him. It's important," Peter said anxiously, and then noticed the black Maserati. He looked at her and asked, "Is that his?"

"Yeah," Kelly answered, carefully watching the man in green glasses. There was something about Mr. Griffin that made her nervous. Maybe it was because the man never smiled or spoke around her, but, whatever the reason, he reminded her of someone stalking a prey. She shivered. Maybe meeting Michael wasn't such a bad idea after all. She began walking to the house and said, "I'll go get Dad and tell him you're here."

"Mom's probably already told him. You know she could always tell who was visiting," Peter said. He took a good look at the Maserati and whistled.

"Forget it, kid," Kermit replied, slapping the younger man on the back. "With your driving record, you couldn't afford the insurance much less the payments."

"I can dream, can't I?" Peter answered with a deep sigh, and then frowned. "It makes you wonder what line of business Michael's in if he can afford this little toy."

Michael flipped through several pages of the photo album, shaking his head in disbelief as the years unfolded in pictures. "It's hard to believe the girls have grown into women," he commented before putting the album back inside the tall bookcase. "Annie's a wonderful woman. I'm glad you found someone after you divorced Mom."

Paul bristled at the way his son phrased his last statement; he'd almost made it sound like an accusation. "She left me no choice, Michael. Her betrayal devastated me, and to this day I don't see how she can sleep at night knowing the things she's done. She had no right to keep your existence from me. You were my child as much as you were hers, and the only reason she kept me from having any kind of relationship with you was to suit her own self centered purposes." He sighed deeply, and continued, "but the worse came later. When she was finally forced to confess her deception, she didn't even have the decency to apologize. I'll never forgive her for what she did to us. Never."

"Dad, look, I didn't…"

"No, Michael, don't you even think about defending her to me," Paul said, barely able to control his temper. "I know you love your mother, but she's caused a tremendous amount of pain that has affected every member of this family. Do you know that when I told her I wanted a divorce and custody of the girls, she just laughed and said I could have them?"

Michael shook his head no, but the news really wasn't a surprise to him. He knew his mother was capable of doing anything. He glanced at his father, and asked half-heartedly, "What happened?"

"When I demanded an explanation, your mother said that she had other plans for her life, and they didn't include being a wife and a mother. She packed her bags, and walked out," Paul said, and sighed deeply before continuing. "For weeks the girls kept asking for their mother. Finally, against my better judgment, I lied and told them she was sick and had to go away. When they got older, I explained to them what really happened, and they surprised me with their acceptance. I think they knew the truth all along but never said anything. Even to this day, your sisters barely mention their mother's name."

Michael stared at his father, refusing to comment on what he was hearing. So what if his sisters grew up without their mother. He did too, but where was his father's outrage over that? Apparently, the fact that his precious little angels had been abandoned bothered him a hell of a lot more than what had happened to his son.

"In a remarkable twist of fate," Paul said, continuing the story as Michael feigned interest in the conversation, "a friend of mine got fed up with my disillusionment over Joyce, and fixed me up on a blind date. The rest is history. Annie came into our lives at the right time. She's not only been a great mother to the girls, but to Peter as well. I don't think I would have made it without her. She's a very special person."

"I can tell," Michael said as he looked out the window. A young man stood next to his Maserati, obviously admiring the expensive vehicle. Amusement quickly turned to anger when he saw Kermit approach the young man. How dare he intrude! Michael turned and studied his father. "You had an ulterior motive when you asked Griffin to join your precinct, didn't you? Who else but an ex-mercenary could protect your son when you're not around?"

"I had my own reasons for getting Kermit out of the business; him watching Peter's back was the last thing on my mind," Paul said, and got to his feet. "Your brother is one of the best officers I've ever worked with. In fact, he might be the very best, and that's not fatherly pride speaking. His record speaks for itself." He pulled open one of his desk drawers and took out a small black box. He set the box gently on top of his desk and nodded. "Open it."

Michael slowly pulled the box across the desk until he picked it up in his hand. Opening the box he discovered several medals and certificates with Peter's name on them. Taking out several pieces of paper, he carefully read each one.

"We had to drag Peter kicking and screaming to accept those awards and commendations. He thought he shouldn't receive an award for a job he's paid to do. I'm hoping one day he'll realize how good of a cop he really is."

"Impressive," Michael said. He returned the documents back to the box and closed the lid. "You must be proud."

"Damn right I am. Any man would be proud to call Peter their son. I just happen to have that privilege." Paul took the box and placed it back in the drawer and closed it. "Peter feels he has to work twice as hard as any of my other detectives just to prove to everyone that I am not giving him special treatment."

"Do you?"

"Did I give you or Kermit special treatment when you were working for me?" Paul challenged. When no answer came, he knew his question had been answered. That matter settled, he walked to a glass cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch. After filling two glasses, he handed one to his son. "Mike, I can't begin to explain Peter to you. You have to meet him. He's…"

"Special," Michael finished, studying the scotch before taking a sip. "Careful Dad, you're making me jealous," he said, and started laughing. "Just kidding. I can't wait to meet him."

"Dad, Kelly's back and Mom said two cars have pulled up in the driveway." Carolyn's voice sounded from the hallway. "One is Peter's and the other one belongs to…"

"Kermit," Paul called out, answering before his daughter could finish her sentence. He moved to the door, and then stopped when he realized Michael wasn't following. "Mike?"

"Why is he here?" Michael asked sharply. "I thought this was a family dinner, not an open invitation for just anyone to drop in and eat."

"Kermit is family," Paul said simply, realizing Michael was still jealous of his friendship with Griffin. "Mike, you and Kermit need to bury the hatchet. If not for me, then do it for Peter. He needs a big brother right now."

"I'm surprised Kermit hasn't taken over that role, too. He's taken everything else that belongs to me," Michael muttered, but it was loud enough for Paul to overhear.

Paul glanced briefly at his son, but decided against pushing the issue any further. He didn't want to irritate Michael by defending Kermit; it would be a lost cause anyway.

"I'll be outside in a minute, Dad," Michael stated, watching as his father left the den. He noticed a picture frame sitting on the desk and reached down to pick it up. It was a small photograph of the family. He touched the photograph with his index finger, slowly tracing it across Peter's face. "You're the key, little brother," he whispered. "If I turn Griffin against you then the old man will fall in line."

Paul opened the front door and nearly collided with his youngest daughter, who wasn't paying attention to where she was going. She looked up and gave him an embarrassing smile.

"Hi Daddy. I didn't see you."

"I noticed," he said, pulling the young woman into a warm embrace. "You were gone so long I thought I was going to have to put out an APB on you," he joked. He released her and glanced over her head. "Where's Peter, sweetheart?"

"He's looking at that black car parked in the driveway," Kelly answered. She heard footsteps and looked over her father's shoulder. A tall, blond-haired man approached, deliberately pulling at his gold Rolex. As their eyes met, he twisted one of his gold rings, allowing her to see the diamonds that laced in the center.

Kelly's distrustful nature kicked into overdrive. She instantly felt a strong dislike for her long lost brother. The way he was flashing his wealth in her face made him seem rude and arrogant. She glanced up at her father, making sure the visitor could hear. "Peter wants to talk to you, Dad. It sounded important."

"I'll talk to him just as soon as I deliver this to your mother," Paul said, taking the wine bottle from his daughter. He smiled, and nodded in Michael's direction. "Kelly, this is Michael. He's been…"

"Away, yeah I know," Kelly cut in. She stared at her brother, trying to think of something to say.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Michael asked, walking up to her. He towered over her, making her feel nervous.

"Sorry, I wish that I did," Kelly answered, studying the man before her. As she got a better glance at him, she realized he was nothing like she expected. While Michael had the same intense blue eyes as their father, he was taller and much more intimidating.

"I'll leave you two alone. I don't think you want me hanging around," Paul said before he went to the kitchen.

"Why are you staring at me?" Michael snapped, apparently tired of her scrutinizing him.

Kelly jumped, frightened by the angry tone in his voice. She quickly apologized, using a white lie to aid her. "I'm sorry. I was just admiring your watch. It looks expensive. Is it gold?"

"It cost me twenty-five thousand dollars. It better be gold," he stated, proudly. He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Kelly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump down your throat. I just don't like people staring at me." He flashed a sly smile, reminding her of a snake. "Forgive me?"

"No harm done," Kelly replied, wanting to end the conversation. She glanced out the front door and saw Peter pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Kermit leaned against the side of the car watching the house with folded arms. Was he staring at her? She quickly turned back to Michael, and said, "Would you like me to introduce you to Peter?"

Michael stepped over to the door, glanced out, and chuckled. "I think I can make my own introductions," he said, and moved down the hallway. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in the greenhouse. You can come get me when dinner is ready."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Kelly muttered, and placed her hands on her hips as she glared at his retreating back. "Can I fetch your slippers for you too?" She shut the front door and headed to the kitchen mumbling the word 'jerk' under her breath.

Paul walked out into the yard, wishing he had put on his overcoat before coming outside. A misty rain had started to fall, bringing a chill to the evening air. He spotted his son standing by the car staring at nothing, deliberately avoiding everyone. He glanced at Kermit who just shrugged.

"Peter?" he called, wondering what was going on.

Peter turned around, tucked his hands into his pockets, and lowered his head. "Paul, there's something Kermit and I need to tell you."

Paul again glanced at Kermit, whose expression remained the same. The man could give lessons to Mr. Spock about controlling emotions. He knew Kermit wasn't going to reveal any information, so he turned his attention back to Peter. "What is it, son?"

"An ambush," Kermit answered, surprising both men. Peter shot Griffin a dirty look, but the ex-mercenary ignored it. "Roger and his new partner were gunned down. No word on their condition. Frank's heading to the hospital."

Paul closed his eyes for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. "I better get over there."

"Paul, I want this case," Peter said, grabbing Paul by the arm. "I want to make sure whoever did this pays."

"Peter...," Paul began, but was cut off.

"I mean it, Captain." Peter glared at the older man, the hazel eyes flashed with anger. "Roger would do the same for me if he were in my shoes. I can't think straight knowing someone might get away with killing him."

"We'll discuss this later, Peter. You know the procedures as well as I do," Paul stated firmly. He had to start an investigation, check on the condition of his two injured officers, and make a full report to the mayor. "You can help me best by staying here with your mother and sisters until I get back from the hospital. I know Mike's here but I think Annie would feel more comfortable if she knew you were here, too."

"But Paul, I…"

"I'll call you as soon as I get any information on their conditions," Paul said and touched his son's shoulder. "Peter, please just do this for me without arguing. I don't have time to - - "

"Then let me go in your place," Peter pleaded, interrupting the captain. "Your place is here with your family, especially now since you have company."

Paul touched his son's chin and lifted it, so Peter was forced to look at him. In the misty rain, he couldn't tell if tears had formed or if it was the rain that stained his son's face. He grabbed the young man into his arms and held him tight, whispering in his ear. "Do I have to beat it into your head to make you understand this is your home too?"

Peter wrapped his arms around Paul, but broke the embrace as quickly as he had welcomed it. "I'll stay with Mom, but as soon as you get home, I want this case."

"That's blackmail, detective."

"Hey, I learned from one of the best," Peter joked, and then raised both eyebrows and asked self-confidently, "Did it work?"

"Nope," Paul laughed, placing his arm around Peter's shoulders the two started walking towards the house. "You're not wine, kid. You don't improve with age."

Peter stopped and tensed under his touch.

Paul glanced in the direction Peter was staring and found the reason for the uneasiness. "Michael," he said, acknowledged his oldest. "I didn't hear you, son."

"I didn't want to interrupt. I'm sorry if I intruded," Michael said, stepping forward. He watched the younger man very carefully and offered his hand. "You must be Peter. I've heard a lot about you."

Peter shook his hand and then released it. "Well, don't believe everything you hear."

Michael smiled as he squeezed in between Peter and Paul, steering the younger back towards the back of the house. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed his father had a slight smile on his face. 'That's right old man, just keep thinking everything is perfect.'

Michael slapped Peter across the back. "Well, little brother, I have a feeling that you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together."

Paul quickly made a few phone calls, grabbed some things, and headed for the front door.

Annie was waiting for him and embraced her husband before giving him a quick kiss. Feeling Paul's face, she softly caressed it. "Promise me that you'll call me the first chance you get," she said. She turned to their friend, and asked, "Kermit, will you stay for dinner? We have plenty, and I'm sure your computer will survive an evening without you."

"She made pot roast," Paul said, knowing how much the younger man liked that dish. He opened the front door and glanced back over his shoulder at Peter. "There better be some left for me when I get home or someone will be writing parking tickets for a long time."

Peter forced a smile but didn't say a word. Paul gave him a quick wink and left.

Annie folded her arms and repeated the invitation in a tone that left no room for argument. "Kermit, dinner will be ready shortly. You just make yourself at home."

Kermit almost declined the invitation, but the annoyed expression on Michael's face instantly changed his mind. Normally he stayed away from family gatherings, but since his presence seemed to irritate Michael Blaisdell, he was more than willing to stay. He turned to Annie and said, "Annie, thank you for the invitation. It's been a long time since I've had a home cooked meal. I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

"I thought you only ate gummy bears, Kermit," Peter joked.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, kid," Kermit stated. He moved closer in Michael's direction, and added, "Isn't that right, Michael?"

"Pete, let's go to the den and talk," Michael said, ignoring Kermit's jab as he steered Peter in the direction of Paul's den. Flashing an evil grin, he deliberately rammed his shoulder into Kermit before disappearing down the hallway.

Paul walked out of the elevator and onto the third floor of the hospital. He glanced down the hallway and spotted Frank standing by the nurses' station engaged in a conversation with a doctor. The doctor spoke a few words, picked up a clipboard on the desk, and then walked down the opposite hallway.

"Frank?"

The ex-marine lifted his head, acknowledged the captain, and then walked into the empty waiting room to sit down. Frank shook his head as Blaisdell took a seat beside him. "It's bad. Nixon's dead. He never regained consciousness." Frank picked up a magazine and angrily tossed it across the room. "James was married and had three kids. I had to tell his wife. She's in the chapel."

"I'll go see her." Paul placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, consoling Strenlich the way two friends often did in their line of work. He stood up wearily. "No matter how many times you have to tell someone their spouse died, it never gets any easier, does it? Any word on Chin?"

"He's still critical. I placed a guard by his door," Frank answered, his mind on his injured detective. "If and when he wakes up he may be able to tell us something."

"Frank, are we dealing with cop killers, or was this a random act?"

"In my opinion, it was done deliberately to send a message to the police." Strenlich stood up and paced the floor. "They didn't bother to close the warehouse doors to hide the bodies. Nixon and Chin were gunned down just for the fun of it. Hell, it could have been a direct message to our precinct since both officers were from the 101st."

"I want them, Frank. I want a report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon." Paul rubbed his chin as he stared at the man pacing before him. "Since we're short- handed, I placed a call and got you another detective. We're going to need the extra manpower. The 86th is giving us a loan for the next three weeks."

"I was going to assign Skalany and Peter to the case, if you'll allow him back on the streets. And if I can drag him out of his cubby hole, I'll put Kermit with them," Frank said, and then sighed when Blaisdell nodded with approval. "Another detective would be great, I just hope we can get someone who's compatible with our little group."

"He is," Paul admitted confidently.

"You must have requested a particular officer if you're that sure," Strenlich remarked. When Blaisdell didn't answer, he stopped pacing, turned, and then stared at the captain.

Blaisdell nodded, a slight grin forming across his face.

"Oh no," Frank said, shutting his eyes tight. "For my sanity, please tell me it isn't Epstein."

"Frank, he's perfect. He knows the other officers and is experienced in these kind of cases," Paul stated, defending his choice to his second in command. "Patrick has a nose for flushing out criminals of this nature."

"Dogs have noses too, but that doesn't mean I want them in my precinct," Strenlich replied. He heaved a frustrated sigh knowing it was useless to argue. Once Blaisdell's mind was set, it was almost impossible to change it. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card and handed it to the captain.

Blaisdell flipped it over; a name and phone number was scratched across the back. He stared at Strenlich in confusion, and asked, "What's this?"

"The name of the person who found Nixon and Chin. According to his statement, he discovered the warehouse doors open and went inside thinking he might find something valuable," Frank answered, and then added somberly, "If he hadn't showed up, Roger would have died."

Michael reached across his father's desk, opened a box, and helped himself to several first-class cigars. He pocketed three of them and lit the other, watching in amusement as Peter paced the carpeted floor nervously.

"Pete, take it easy. I didn't ask you back here to watch you wear a hole in the carpet," he said before offering one of the cigars to the younger man. "Here, take it and relax."

Peter shook his head before running his hand through his hair. "Relax? That's easy for you to say."

Michael stood up, dropped the cigar into the ashtray, and walked around to the front of the desk. He gently placed his hands on both of Peter's shoulders. "You think this is easy for me? How do you think I feel? I just discovered my father has a new wife, my two sisters are grown, and I have a brother. This isn't a piece of cake for me either."

"Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking."

"Forget it. We're both nervous." Michael returned to Paul's chair and pointed at one of the other two chairs sitting in front of the desk. After Peter dropped down into one, he continued, "Dad told me a little about you. How you came to live with the family and followed in his footsteps to become a cop. He didn't say much about your life before the orphanage though."

Peter squirmed. "There's nothing to tell."

"Pete, I lost my family, too. I know how much it hurts, but I have them back and a brother to boot." Michael waited, tapping his finger on top of the desk. When Peter refused to carry the conversation any further, he became annoyed. He hated it when things didn't go as planned, and when that happened he improvised.

He cautiously plotted his next move, making sure he could cover his tracks in case he had to explain his actions later. He exhaled, blowing out a smoke ring, and then brought up the one subject he had been asked not to mention in Peter's presence: the young man's biological father. During lunch with his father and Annie, he had been told about Kwai Chang Caine's disappearance and how it had affected Peter.

"How long has your father been dead?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

Peter's head shot up. "My father's not dead! Who told you that?"

Michael held up his hands. "Whoa, my mistake. I just assumed since you were fostered, your parents were dead. Isn't that why most kids are put in an orphanage?"

Peter jumped up, approached the desk, and glared down at Michael. "The person who placed me in that orphanage lied through his teeth. He knew my father was alive and still he threw me in that God awful place."

Michael backtracked, fearing unless he regained control over the conversation, someone in the house was bound to overhear Peter's angry outburst. He wasn't about to risk giving Kermit any opportunity to disrupt his plans. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories," he lied. "I guess I misunderstood Dad when he mentioned the situation with your father. The way he explained it, I just assumed that your father was dead."

"My father's alive," Peter declared hotly. "He's a priest, and he'll return when his path is clear again."

"When his path is clear?" Michael repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Why is there such a big age difference between you and Carolyn?" Peter asked, eyeing the older man with curiosity and totally ignoring the question Michael asked.

"My parents divorced the first time before I was born. Years later, they got back together and had Carolyn and Kelly. End of story," Michael answered, surprised that Peter had turned the tables on him.

"Mind telling me what you do for a living?" Peter asked. "Or how long are you planning on staying?"

Michael had to admit to himself that the young man was a lot smarter than he first thought. He stood up, walked over to where Peter was standing, and said, "You want to call a truce to this fishing game?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Kermit said from the doorway. Michael wasn't sure how long the detective had been eavesdropping, but it was clear that Griffin wasn't in any hurry to leave. Lowering his green glasses, Kermit stated, "Annie said dinner's ready."

Michael waited until Peter had left before he spoke. "You've gotten soft over the years, Kermit. Accepting dinner invitations? What's next? Will you volunteer to water the flowers and mow the lawn?" he asked, and started to laugh. "If the family had a dog, I bet you would be running behind it with a pooper-scooper."

"You are the family dog, Michael," Kermit said in a low voice. "And if you ever try another stunt like you just did with Peter, I'll neuter you."

"What stunt? I was just telling him something dear ole Dad told me."

"You're a damned liar, Michael."

Michael laughed out loud. "You're calling me a lair? That's pretty rich considering you and Dad wrote the book on the subject," he said, deliberately trying to infuriate the other man. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Kermit, but hasn't Dad been lying to Peter for years about his true profession? I willing to bet good money that if the brat saw a tape of one of Dad's famous 'confession sessions', he'd see Paul Blaisdell in a new light."

Kermit stared straight at Michael, but said nothing.

Furious because Griffin wasn't taking the bait, Michael went for the kill. "Sid Pruitt was a professional. After he witnessed one of the methods you and Dad used on certain individual, he never was the same again, was he? How do you think Pete's going to react when he discovers the truth?"

Kermit adjusted his sunglasses, and then, as quick as a cobra, he grabbed Michael's tie and yanked the taller man towards him. "The things I did as a mercenary would be considered virtuous compared to what awaits you if you attempt to destroy Paul's relationship with his son," he hissed. He released Michael with a violent shove and started walking down the hallway. "As I said earlier, dinner's ready and Annie doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Carolyn grabbed a roll and passed the plate across the table to Kelly. The youngest Blaisdell picked at her food, growing tired of hearing Michael brag about his wealth. Her sister on the other hand enjoyed the conversation as she and Annie continued to ask Michael questions about his life and career.

"You acquired a small fortune by selling medical supplies, Michael?" Annie asked as she listened to her stepson explain his profession. "How did you invest your money?"

"Stocks, bonds, gems, and gold. You name it, I invested in it," Michael answered, relishing in the attention he was receiving. Everyone at the table seemed to be hanging on every word he spoke, with the exception of Kermit. The man kept staring back at him through those damned sunglasses, but Michael wasn't about to let Griffin ruin his evening. "I've made several million dollars profit, and it was tax free."

"I bet it was, since you don't pay taxes," Kermit muttered under his breath. He tossed down his napkin, and excused himself from the table. "Annie, I'm sorry but I have to go. Dinner was great as usual."

"I'll walk you out," Annie said, pushing herself out of her chair as Kermit took her hand. The two took their time walking to the Corvair. When they reached the car, Annie asked, "Kermit, it doesn't take a blind person to know that you and Michael hate each other. Would you tell me why?"

Kermit kissed her on the cheek before he opened the car door. "Ask me again another time, Annie." With those last words, he got into his car, backed it out of the driveway, and took off down the road.

Annie returned to the house, and just as she opened the front door the phone started ringing.

"Annie, it's me," Paul said. His voice sounded tired and weary. "I need to speak with Peter."

Michael stood just inside the doorway leading into the greenhouse, watching Peter from a distance. It was obvious that the phone call he had received two hours ago still occupied the younger man's attention.

"If you want to be alone, I'll leave."

Startled, Peter spun around. With a blank look on his face, he shook his head. "No, come in. I was just thinking."

"I heard what happened at the warehouse. I'm sorry," Michael said, trying to sound sincere. "Do you think your friend will live?"

"Paul said that it's too early to tell," Peter answered, his voice heavy with emotion. "I didn't know James, but he didn't deserve to be gunned down like some animal. Nobody does. I should have been there. I could have…"

"You could have been killed!"

"You don't know that. Nobody does!"

"I do know that you're alive and …" Michael stopped and mentally chastised himself for almost revealing information he knew on the ambush. He quickly reorganized and shifted into big brother mode. He pulled out his business card and handed it to the younger man. "I know we just met, but if there is anything I can do let me know. That's my beeper number. If you need someone to talk to, you can reach me day or night."

Peter glanced down at the card, and then stuck it into his jeans pocket. "Thanks, but you don't have to do this."

"I want to help, even if it's only to listen," Michael stated. He was amazed how well the cards were finally falling into place. Success was guaranteed once he had Peter in his back pocket, and he was about to accomplish that now. "Dad said that you're a hockey fan. Maybe we can take in a game one day?"

For the first time since they met, Peter smiled. "Sure, I'd like that."

"Great, I'll buy the tickets," Michael suggested. With nothing left to accomplish for the day, he decided it was time to leave. No sense in hanging around and making a nuisance out of himself. Kermit had already had a lock in that department. "Well, I think I'll call it a night. Give my best to Annie," he said, offering his hand to the younger man, who hesitated but finally shook it. "What would you say if I swing by the precinct tomorrow and pick you up for lunch?"

"I don't know. Paul's got me on…"

"Don't worry about the old man. I know how much he wants us to get to know each other. I'm sure he would approve a simple lunch. In fact, why don't we ask Dad to join us?"

"Alright, I'm sure Frank wouldn't mind me disappearing tomorrow."

"Good, I'll see you tomorrow," Michael said. He pulled out his car keys, and walked out of the greenhouse. Darkness had fallen, but he had no problem getting to his car. He drove a few miles, and then placed a call on his cellular phone. "Robert, one of them is still alive. It looks like it's going to be touch and go for awhile."

"You want me to take care of that little loose end?" Davis asked, almost begging. "That cop can identify us."

"We can wait. The cop isn't going to be talking anytime soon, and I'm sure the entire National Guard is guarding his door."

"What about your reunion, or should I even bother to ask?"

Michael couldn't help but laugh. Davis knew him well, too well. "Let's just say everything went as I had hoped. However, Griffin as usual, had to crash the dinner. I want his grip on my family broken, and the only way to do that is to get rid of him - permanently."


	4. Chapter 4

PAST REGRETS

Kaleidopy

IV

Sitting inside her Ford Taurus, Mary Margaret Skalany wrote down a few notes waiting for Peter to finish talking with the county clerk. She had already radioed in their findings and told Broderick their location.

The car door opened and Peter dropped into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him. "The clerk remembered Roger and James, and gave me a copy of the records she gave them." He showed Skalany the papers and pointed at the address. "That's the building across the street from the precinct. I also checked to see what other property Luther owned before he died. It seems he sold all the property to the new owner well below its value."

"Blackmail or intimidation. Either one would make Luther sell his property. The big question is, why kill him? I say we pay the new owner a visit." Skalany pulled the car into traffic and started humming a song. She glanced at Peter and asked with a conniving smile, "I'm curious, when does Epstein transfer to the 101st?"

"Skalany, why do I get the feeling you're up to something devious?" Peter asked, arching an eyebrow before he added, "I think I should warn Eppy."

"You do that and I'll tell Annie all about her little boy's Persian flaw," Mary Margaret countered, and when she noticed his confused expression, she explained in between giggles. "The bakery? No clothes? Remember now?"

His mouth dropped open. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh I do and I will." she said, and then laughed out loud. "Don't worry. I'm just going to give Mr. Testosterone a good dose of his own medicine."

"Yeah, well, don't count on me being a willing participant," Peter warned.

After they investigated the office building, Peter looked down at the information he had collected from the courthouse. "Skalany, there's no reason to check out the warehouse where Chin and Nixon were ambushed because Forensics is still combing the area for evidence. Let's go check out the other warehouse."

"Shouldn't we call for backup?"

"Why?" he asked, glancing back at her. "Aren't you considered my backup?"

"Yes, but –"

"Look Skalany, if you're not interested I can go myself."

"Without backup?" she shouted, and then shot him a dirty look before heaving a frustrated sigh. "Forget it partner. I'm going to cover your ass on this little venture. Then, after that, I'm going to kick it."

Michael Blaisdell glanced at his watch before he picked up the telephone on his desk and dialed a number. "Yes, it's me. Has Robert called in?"

Before he received an answer someone knocked on the office door and Robert Davis walked inside. A man in a dark suit, carrying a briefcase, followed behind him.

"It's about time, Greg," Michael said. He dropped the phone back into the cradle, stood up, and shook the man's hand before motioning for him to take a seat. Michael returned to his own chair, folded his hands on top of his desk, and waited as the man opened the briefcase. "Well, what did you bring me?"

Greg Johnson fumbled though his briefcase looking for something. Finding it, he tossed it to the man behind the desk. "A good friend of ours said it is the best."

"Douglas does enjoy his work, doesn't he?" Michael looked at the small tablet encased in plastic before asking, "How's this supposed to work?"

"It dissolves in liquid," Johnson explained. "To get the desired effect, make sure you drop it into your intended victim's drink two minutes before they drink the beverage. Douglas suggests creating a situation to make their blood pressure rise. It travels faster through the blood stream that way."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Michael said, dropping the small tablet in his shirt pocket. "I have something to tell Griffin that will make his blood pressure hit the stratosphere." He opened the bottom desk drawer, pulled out a locked black box, and unlocked it. He opened the box, and pulled out several large bills, and placed them on the desk.

Johnson got to his feet and started to retrieve the money. Before he could, his hand was slammed hard against the desk. In a surprised voice, he asked, "What the - -"

"Just taking precautions, my friend." Michael slowly removed his hand to allow Johnson to recover. "How's this drug supposed to change Griffin's personality?"

"The effects are only temporarily," Johnson warned him. "Griffin will lose control and violently attack the person who he feels is threatening him." As soon as he realized Michael was satisfied, he quickly took the money before Michael changed his mind. "Once the drug wears off, the only side effect will be a bad headache."

"Excellent, and Peter will be the perfect witness to Griffin's attack on me. I'll play the victim masterfully and when the old man demands an explanation, Peter will have no choice but to tell the truth. Well his version of it," Michael laughed, and moved to the door. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a lunch date with my unsuspecting partner."

"I wasn't expecting you back from the mayor's office this soon, Captain," Frank said, entering Blaisdell's office with several reports in his hands. He gave them to his superior. "You need to go over these before I assign them to the bullpen."

"It never ends, does it?" Blaisdell commented before reading the files. The phone started ringing, and he glanced up. "Get that, will you, Frank?"

Strenlich answered the phone and instantly regretted the decision when he recognized the voice on the other end. He sighed, sure it was the beginning of a conversation that would mean trouble. It didn't take long to be proven right.

"No, it's too dangerous," Frank said simply, cutting off the conversation. His anger mounted after hearing the next few words. He stood straight up, squeezing the phone tightly as if it were the person on the other end he had in his clutches. "What do you mean you've already been to the location?"

Paul looked up, interested in the conversation. "Frank, what's going on? Who is that?"

Frank started yelling into the receiver, finally losing the last control over his temper, "Your partner wasn't considered backup in this case Caine, so stop giving me that line of crap. You knew better. I want you and Skalany in my office. NOW."

Blaisdell grabbed the phone out of Strenlich's hand and waited for an explanation.

"Talk to your son," the chief said angrily as he pointed at the phone.

"Peter? You want to tell me why Frank's turning red?" Paul asked his son.

Strenlich sat down and waited for the explosion.

Blaisdell's hand squeezed the phone and then flew into a rage. "Are you telling me that you decided to go into a deserted warehouse knowing full well what happened to Chin and Nixon?"

Frank shook his head in disbelief. He knew Peter's methods had always been questionable, but this little stunt was down right insane.

"Detective Caine, I want you and Detective Skalany in my office now. I don't think either one of you want to know what will happen if you're late." Blaisdell slammed the phone down hard and glared at Strenlich. "I'd kill him, but his mother would make me spend the rest of my life sleeping on the couch."

A tall man walked to the front desk, signed his name on the visitor's sheet, and then placed the pen back down on the desk. Broderick picked up the clipboard and read the name, "Blaisdell?" he asked, studying the man for a second. "Are you related to the captain?"

"Yes," the man answered with a proud grin. "He's my father."

Broderick's mouth dropped open in shock.

Patrick Michael Epstein drummed his fingers across his assigned desk, bored beyond imagination. For the past thirty minutes he had flipped through several folders while he waited for Peter to return to the precinct. He had heard Strenlich demand to be informed once Caine and Skalany returned.

He turned in his chair, stood up, and headed for the coffee pot. Just as he was reaching for the pot, someone snatched it out of his reach.

"Hey!" Epstein shouted, snapping at the man pouring coffee into a Kermit the frog coffee mug. "Get in line."

"I believe I did," the man snarled.

"Kermit, I need that report on the jewelry holdup," someone yelled from the bullpen.

"Check your inbox, Burt," Kermit shouted over his shoulder. "It's been there for two hours."

Epstein watched the man in green glasses carefully. Peter had mentioned his name on several occasions but the way the young man had described Griffin, he expected anything but a nerd. "So you're Kermit."

"Oh yeah," Kermit answered, taking a sip of coffee. Something caught his attention. He placed his mug on the table and muttered, "Excuse me."

"Nice meeting you too," Epstein said. He glanced around the bullpen and spotted Peter and Mary Margaret walking towards him.

Skalany smiled sweetly at him then moved to her desk. She looked over at her partner and shot him a warning glare.

"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you, tomato can?" Eppy said, greeting his former partner with a slap across the back. "Didn't I teach you anything when we rode together?" he asked, tapping his knuckles against Peter's head. "Hello, is there anything in there?"

"Eppy, don't start with me," Peter warned him. He noticed Blaisdell's door was closed. Relief flooded his features when he realized Strenlich was missing, which meant the chief was in the captain's office as well.

Kermit quickly moved through the line of desks in the bullpen, and met Michael in front of Broderick's desk. He intentionally moved the man to a semi-isolated area away from prying ears. "What are you doing here?" he snarled. "Getting homesick? Did you want to visit the closest thing to a federal pen?"

"If you must know, Griffin. I'm here to take my brother to lunch," Michael said. He started to walk away, but before he could take a step, Kermit grabbed his arm. Michael angrily jerked himself free and glared at the man wearing sunglasses. "Don't make a scene Kermit. Someone might get the idea that you don't like me and we wouldn't want to be the cause of a vicious rumor now, would we? What would the old man think, or better yet, Peter?"

"Stay away from Peter. He's off limits," Kermit hissed. "I don't want him involved in any of this. This is between us. Nobody else. Understand?"

"Wow, Kermit. Listening to your mad rambling, someone might actually think I planned to kill the kid or something." Michael crossed his arms and chuckled. "Have you told Dad about this new phobia of yours? No, that's not your style. Why don't you save yourself some time on the couch and admit the truth. We both know you're jealous of me, and what I have."

"Jealous? Of you!" Kermit cracked a shrewd smile. "What have you got that I could possibly want?"

"A brother," Michael answered with a sneer. "I have one now, and yours is pushing up daises. Becoming one with the worms."

Peter opened Kermit's office door and found the room empty. Surprised by Kermit's absence, he shut the door and walked over to where Epstein was standing. "You seen Kermit, Eppy?"

"Jack Nicholson is visiting Hulk Hogan over there," Epstein said, and pointed to Kermit and Michael, who were engaged in a heated conversation. "Uh oh, looks like there's trouble in Hollywood."

Peter turned in the direction Epstein had directed. He couldn't hear the conversation between Michael and Kermit, but it was clear to see the hostilities growing between the two men. "I better go see what's going on."

Epstein grabbed the young man by the arm and pulled him back. "Take some advice from a seasoned pro: don't jump into a foray that doesn't concern you. You'll live longer."

Suddenly Kermit shoved Michael into the wall, causing clipboards, posters, and papers to fly off the bulletin board. Griffin's words weren't audible, but when the ex-mercenary balled his hand into a fist, Peter stepped in to stop him.

"Kermit," Peter said, and grabbed his friend's arm.

Griffin, acting on instinct, turned and threw a fist at the person who had grabbed him. Recognizing the individual, Kermit had only a fraction of a second to stop the swing before it connected. "Peter," he shouted, backing away from the younger man, "that's a good way to get yourself killed."

The commotion piqued the interest of several uniforms, and when Kermit glared at them for eavesdropping, they quickly returned to their duties. However, the disturbance also caught the attention of Strenlich and Blaisdell, who both rushed out of Paul's office.

"What's going on out here?" Strenlich yelled, seeking an answer from the officers standing nearby. When no one answered, he angrily shouted, "Has crime been beamed up to another galaxy? Does anybody have any cases to solve?"

Paul approached the three men, and looked at the two oldest with a stare so intense that it would have melted steel. "Kermit, Michael, either one of you want to tell me what's going on?"

Kermit shot Michael a hostile look then angrily stormed back to his office, slamming the door behind him.

"Ask him!" Michael growled, and waved his hand in Kermit's direction. "He attacked me for no damn reason."

"Michael, I want this matter between you and Kermit straighten out before I decide to end it myself," Paul said. He stared at Griffin's office door, sighed, and then headed for his office. Before he went inside, he looked back at his son and said with concern, "I mean it. Settle it before someone gets hurt."

Epstein approached the two remaining men, pulled out a chair and sat down. "That's a first. Blaisdell's never forgotten to chew your butt out before, kid." He stared up at the taller man. "Who are you, the IRS? Miss Piggy's newest boyfriend? Whoever you are, you sure got bullfrog all upset for some reason."

"Blaisdell. Michael Blaisdell, the captain's son." Michael introduced himself. "I've been away for a few years."

"You're kidding, right?" Epstein glanced from Peter to Michael, waiting for the punch line he was sure that was coming.

"He's not joking, Eppy." Peter revealed.

"What is this, Dynasty? There's long lost kids popping up out of the woodwork, waiting for some inheritance. What's next? Is Joan Collins going to walk in here to buy up the place?"

"Eppy, you've just destroyed your image," Peter said, and started laughing. "All these years, I thought you spent your days off beating up bad guys. Instead, I find out you've been staying home watching soaps."

"The only soap watching I do is when I buy a bar at the department store," the detective shot back as he got to his feet. "Come on kid," he said, and wiggled his finger, beckoning Peter to follow him. "We got work to do. Time's a wasting."

"After lunch, officer," Michael said forcefully, and then tried to usher Peter towards the front desk.

Peter refused to move. "Michael, I'm sorry but Eppy's right. I really don't have time. I've got to get this report finished and on Paul's desk in less than two hours, or I'll never hear the end of it."

"What? You've got to be kidding," Michael said clearly irritated. "Pete, don't you realize what position you hold? You're the captain's son for Christ's sake. Order someone to do your dirty work." He glared back at Epstein, livid that the detective dared to intrude in his personal business. "Tell Jackie Gleason here to type up the report for you. That is if he knows how to type and spell."

"Oh no!" Peter muttered and then closed his eyes, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

In the span of a heartbeat, Patrick Epstein was in the taller man's face, jabbing an angry finger into Michael's chest. "Listen here, Hulk Hogan. Why don't you go into Jack Nicholson's office and the two of you can discuss whose film career stinks the most."

"Come on Eppy, we have work to do," Peter said, pulling the older man away before the confrontation could escalate into something more serious.

"Why did you do that?" Epstein asked, glaring back at Michael. "I was about to site him rule number seventy–two."

Before Peter could answer, he heard Blaisdell's voice. "Detective Caine, in my office. Now!"

Strenlich managed to escape the office before Blaisdell slammed the door behind him. The chief vigorously waved several folders in Peter's direction as the young officer approached. "When Blaisdell's finished with you, I'm getting what's left."

"With the mood he's in now, I _know_ there won't be anything left," Peter replied pessimistically, remembering his teenage days when he had been on the receiving end of one of his foster father's lectures after being caught doing something wrong.

"There's nobody to blame but you, Peter, so spare me the pity routine." Frank turned towards the bullpen, and shouted at Mary Margaret, "Skalany, I want to see you and Caine in my office in fifteen minutes."

"Couldn't you have at least tried to soften up the captain for me, Frank?" Peter teased and then winced when Strenlich gave him 'the look'. He shrugged. "Well, I thought it was worth a shot."

"It wasn't," Frank growled in response, and then glanced at the blond visitor who was now seated at Peter's desk. "Blaisdell's oldest son sure riled up Kermit, didn't he? If I didn't know any better, I'd almost swear Kermit was jealous of the man."

"Kermit, jealous? Come on, Frank, you've gotta be kidding." Peter replied before he knocked on Blaisdell's door. A grumbled invitation to enter was his greeting, and reluctantly Peter opened the door.

Over at the desk, Michael glanced around the precinct, watching everyone cautiously, especially Epstein. His plans were slowly coming together, but a small wrench had been thrown in unexpectedly: the hard-nosed Detective Epstein. No problem, he assured himself. The detective could easily become another victim of the alleged cop killer who was still lurking on the streets.

Mary Margaret put the final touches on her report and turned her computer off. She pulled out her purse and asked, "Who's going to Chandlers?"

"Count me in," Blake said, standing up.

"What about you partner?" Mary Margaret asked, walking over to Peter's desk. She noticed the scattered papers strewn across it, and reached down and started stacking them in a neat pile. "Didn't your mother teach you how to clean up after yourself, Peter?"

"Cute," he replied, and tossed several folders into his out box. He glanced at Griffin's office. "You think Kermit would want to join us?"

"Oh Great! Invite the party pooper along to spoil my night," Epstein said, and rolled his eyes. He pointed in the direction of Kermit's office. "There's something strange about that man."

"Patrick, forget about Kermit. You're going to buy me a drink." Skalany leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I'll be waiting," she giggled in singsong voice as she left the bullpen.

Epstein watched the female detective leave, and then grabbed Peter by the shoulders. "She wants me. It's a woman thing I tell you. Her biological clock has gone haywire."

Peter started laughing. He couldn't help it. Skalany was putting the man through hell and he was sworn to secrecy. "Eppy, take it easy. It's just a drink."

"That's how it starts. The ex used that line on me before she somehow dragged me to the alter, and then after I woke up from the nightmare, she preceded to destroy my fragile bank account, amongst other valuable items that I need not mention." Epstein waved his hand in front of his face. "Rule number twenty-nine. When a woman starts smiling at you, run for the hills because once she gets her hooks into you, your life is over." He was trying to be sincere but Peter couldn't keep a straight face. "What's so funny? Here I am trying to give you some advice to live by and you find it amusing."

"Sorry Eppy," Peter continued to laugh. He quickly hurried to Kermit's door, knocked, and went inside when the older detective threatened to throw something at him.

"Kids, think they know it all. No wonder the world is in such a mess," Epstein shouted to anyone who might be listening. Strenlich walked out of Blaisdell's office, slipped on his jacket while holding several folders in the alternate hand. "You joining the low working class tonight, Chief, or walking to the end of the street to bark orders at a stop sign?"

Frank flipped through several of the folders, pulled one out, and waved it in front of Epstein's face. "Open your mouth one more time and you're getting this assignment."

"Humor me," Eppy taunted before he took the folder. He read the first two lines inside the case, closed the folder, and returned it to Strenlich. "I'd rather give a speech on gun control to the NRA."

"What's the matter, Epstein?" Strenlich chuckled as he placed the folders under his arm and headed back to his office. "Afraid you may like wearing dresses and high heels?"

Kermit casually walked into Chandlers, and, as customary for him, carefully scoped out the area, making sure no surprises were lurking anywhere. Satisfied his surroundings were secure, he relaxed his guard and moved further into the building.

For a busy night, the popular hang out wasn't crowded, in fact, the place almost looked deserted.

He studied each individual, searching for Michael until he spotted the man sitting in a secluded booth with his back to everyone. Apparently, Michael wanted privacy for their scheduled meeting. Well, so be it.

He moved to the back and slid into the same booth and waited, continuously observing the different people entering and leaving the bar.

Michael pulled the toothpick out of his martini and stared at the olive on the end. "I hate these things," he stated before flipping it into the ashtray. "After that scene at the precinct, I didn't think you'd show Griffin."

"I'm not here to chit chat," Kermit said, not bothering to hide his hatred for the other man. "You said you had information on David. Tell me what it is, and let's get this over with."

"If I didn't know you cared, I'd be hurt," Michael said, pretending to be offended. "At least let me buy you a drink before we get down to business."

"Forget it. I'll buy my own." Kermit waved a waitress over to their booth, placed his order, and glared at Michael while he waited for his drink. He noticed Janet Morgan approaching, and turned his attention to the unwelcome visitor. "Morgan, you're on nights. Why are you here?"

Janet Morgan glared at him venomously. "It's called a night off, Griffin." She turned to Michael and offered her hand. "We haven't met. I'm Janet, and you are?"

"Michael, and please join us." he answered, sliding down to make room for her to sit down. "Allow me to buy you a drink. I'm sorry I didn't have the privilege to meet you while I was visiting my father earlier today at the precinct."

"No thanks," Morgan declined, as she stared at Kermit. "I'm picky with whom I drink." She turned back to Michael and smiled sweetly. "So you're Captain Blaisdell's actual son. I'm sure he must be proud of you."

Kermit sighed disgustedly. "Morgan, go bother somebody else. Blaisdell and I have something to talk about and we don't want or need you spreading your version of it to the precinct."

Morgan leaned over the table, and glared harder at Griffin. Leaving nothing to the imagination, she began telling the man what she really thought of him. She ignored the waitress who placed two drinks on the table and quickly left.

Michael realized Janet was unintentionally blocking Kermit's view of him, along with most of the table. Using the distraction, he dropped the tablet into Griffin's drink and watched as it easily dissolved, unnoticed by his guest.

"Morgan, if you don't leave, I'm going to be forced to terminate your existence and trust me, it won't be pretty." Kermit glared at the woman, who turned pale and finally left. He grabbed his drink, downed it in one swallow, and turned his attention back to Michael. "I want to know how you knew about David."

"A good friend of ours, Douglas Larson, introduced David to me."

Kermit tensed upon hearing the name of his most hated enemy, but said nothing.

"That hell hole you placed me in had two little advantages, my friend. It introduced me to individuals who had great resources. Those resources allowed me to gain information on you and your family. That information helped me extract the perfect revenge," Michael said, and continued to taunt Kermit. "I bet you didn't know I was granted a two month vacation from prison did you? It happened almost six years ago. The deal was, I could go free, and as long as I returned on the designated time and date, no record would ever be made of my leave. It pays to have friends wearing guard uniforms."

"You're lying, Blaisdell."

"Believe what you want, Griffin but I had a blast in Florida while I was on vacation. It was there a contact introduced me to Larson. Haven't you've spent many sleepless nights wondering why he would want to waste his time exterminating some no-named cop."

Kermit balled one hand into a fist. "Larson killed David because he was interfering in his drug trafficking business. Those are the facts."

"How naïve of you, Kermit," Michael said, and leaned closer to the table, grinning like a madman. "Who do you think told Douglas everything about that cop, including his prior history of drug use? That little tidbit was all it took to show Douglas how easy it would be to waste and discredit him in one swift motion."

The hair on the back of Kermit's neck began to rise, starting a chain reaction that continued as the glass shattered in his vise-like grip.

"When I left Larson's office that day, he was giving the order to take out your brother. I laughed all the way to my car, imagining how you would react when you heard the news," Michael continued, insensitive to the man's emotional state. "I heard he died alone, choking on his own vomit. I bet it wasn't a pretty sight when the body was discovered, was it? Wasn't that empty alley infested with rats?"

Mary Margaret was enjoying herself. From the first day she had met Patrick Michael Epstein, she was convinced the man was a little prejudice against women, but later, as she got to know him, she realized he was harmless- more like a mosquito that needed swatting from time to time.

Now with the shoe on the other foot, Skalany's practical joke was about to unfold. She had thrown little hints to Epstein about wanting to settle down and start a family. Twice already, she had the older detective squirming on his bar stool.

"Skalany, I think I should tell you that I..." he cleared his throat and nervously pulled at his collar. "I, well, I…"

"Yes, Patrick?" she teased, playfully batting her eyelashes at him. "When are you going to pop the question? I'm not getting any younger."

Epstein swallowed his drink in one gulp, placed the glass on the bar, and shouted at the bartender, "Terry, give me another and make it a double."

Peter started laughing, threatening to ruin everything. She gave him her most intense glare but he didn't take the hint.

"Hey, what's so funny?" Epstein demanded. He shot her a suspicious look.

"Well thanks a lot, Peter," she huffed at the younger man and then turned to Epstein and confessed. "It was a joke, Epstein. If you and I were the last two people on earth, it would still be too crowded for my taste."

"I think I was just insulted," Eppy stated before heaving a heavy sigh of relief.

"You were," Peter laughed harder.

"And I couldn't have pulled the joke off without your help, partner." Skalany admitted with a shrewd grin before she kissed Peter's cheek. "Thanks for keeping our little secret."

Epstein glared at his former partner. "You were in on this little Pearl Harbor job, tomato can?"

"I think I hear somebody calling my name," Peter muttered nervously as he shifted closer to Mary Margaret.

"Not so fast." Epstein reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "You and me got some talking to do about loyalty that…" he stopped, stood up, and released the hold he had on the younger man. "I wonder what's going on over there?"

Peter followed the direction Epstein had pointed. "I better go see what's going on."

"No kid," Epstein called out as his former partner rushed towards the back, "Remember rule number…" he sighed, and waved his hand half-heartedly, realizing he was wasting his breath. "Forget it. You never listen to me anyway."

Mary Margaret watched her partner leave. "What's going on?"

The detective shrugged. "You tell me."

She stood up but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Seconds later she spotted one of her coworkers. Kermit had one hand balled into a fist and was speaking angrily to Michael Blaisdell.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Mary Margaret said worriedly. Several people moved into her line of sight and she lost sight of Peter. Concerned, she turned to Epstein. "Come on, we better find the chief and the others. Peter might need help."

"Last time I saw Frank," the detective said, glancing in all directions, "he and Blake were sitting in a booth nursing a beer."

"Well, they're not there now," she stated, searching the area for her missing friends and co-workers.

"You find the others," Epstein suggested. "I'm going to help Pete."

"No, big fella," she said as she pulled at him. "Peter's going to have his hands full without you adding gasoline to the fire."

No longer able to grasp reality, Kermit's only thought was that of revenge. He reached down and yanked Michael Blaisdell by the collar, but someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him away from his adversary.

Griffin turned his anger on the person who dared to defend the man who had helped kill his brother. In his mind, the intruder was an accessory in David's murder.

"Kermit, I know you don't - - -"

He elbowed the individual in the stomach, cutting off the would-be-attacker's words before they were uttered. Turning around, he grabbed the man and slammed him hard into the wall, listening with deep-rooted satisfaction as the breath was knocked out of his enemy.

Not giving his opponent a chance to recover, Kermit roughly grabbed the man and slammed him hard on the now vacated table. He started choking him, determined to avenge David in the only way he knew.

The man frantically tried to reach a napkin holder in a last ditch attempt to defend himself, but it only infuriated Kermit further. He applied more pressure around his victim's throat, unsympathetic of the choking sounds he heard.

"Did David struggle like this?" he taunted, enjoying the resistance his victim was putting up. He knew the man's strength was rapidly fading and soon it would be over. Before it was, he inflicted another dose of retribution by squeezing even harder. Within seconds, the body on the table went lax and the struggle ceased.

The battle over, Kermit leaned over and hissed, "I hope you rot in hell."

Michael watched in amusement as the events unfolded. Peter desperately fought back but Griffin was the expert and the young man never anticipated the brutal attack, especially from someone he considered a friend.

Peter had made a valiant attempt to grab the napkin holder. If he could get the item, then the playing field would be leveled. Michael simply couldn't allow that to happen. He barely pushed the holder further down the table, making sure it was out of the pleading finger's reach. At that brief moment, the two men locked eyes and the look of betrayal in Peter's eyes was priceless. He would have laughed out loud but the kid quickly lost consciousness, destroying any thoughts he had of gratification.

For the moment, he was content to sit back, enjoy his drink and watch, but even that was ruined when he heard a woman scream. He looked up and found a waitress staring at them. A horrified look of disbelief was on her face. She screamed again.

Frank monotonously nursed his beer, thankful he had accepted Skalany's invitation to join the rest of the off duty detectives for a few drinks at Chandlers. It beat the alternative of going home to his wife Molly and their crumbling marriage. No amount of counseling or advice from friends had helped, nor did he expect things to get any better.

He glanced across the room, half listening to Blake and Broderick's amusing conversation over the decay in modern music.

"Chief?" Skalany's voice called out.

He turned and saw the woman moving across the floor, shoving dancers and patrons out of her way as she made her way to their booth.

"We got trouble. Kermit and the captain's son are about to butt heads again. You better put a stop to it before the 101st becomes the lead story on the evening news."

"Where are Peter and Epstein?" Frank asked, searching the building for the two detectives.

"Peter's trying to play peacemaker, and Epstein thinks it's a mistake," she explained, and then hurried back from where she came.

He followed her, with Broderick and Blake trailing close behind. It was then all four heard a woman scream. They rushed to where the sound had come from and got the shock of their lives.

Frank stopped, not believing his own eyes. He didn't know what shocked him the most: Peter's unmoving body sprawled out across the back table or Kermit's hands around the young man's throat, squeezing out what life still remained.

Strenlich rushed over and violently shook the computer expert. "Kermit let him go," he pleaded frantically, hoping the man would return to his senses but Frank's words had no effect. Griffin's hands were locked around the young man's neck, refusing to loosen its grip.

Peter's face had turned blue, and his lips were a shade darker. Never in his life had Frank been more frightened than he was now. "For God's sake, Kermit let him go before you kill him."

Again Griffin refused to comply.

Faced with no other option, Frank used brute strength to break Kermit's hold. He easily tossed the smaller man to the side as if he were a bag of rice. He then went to check on his junior officer.

"Chief, look out," Blake's frantic voice called out, warning him of immediate danger.

Frank turned and managed to grab Kermit by the arm before the ex-mercenary had time to enact another attack. The ex-marine simply reversed positions, then twisted Griffin's arm behind his back and shoved him face first into the wall. "Calm down or I'll break it," he growled in warning. "I swear I'll snap it like a twig."

"He's guilty of killing my brother," Kermit hissed, trying to fight the hold Strenlich had on him. He uttered a curse, realizing he was unable to escape. "If you defend him, then you'll share the same fate."

"What the hell's going on?" Epstein shouted from behind them.

"Epstein, shut up and check on Caine," Strenlich said, trying to keep his hold on the struggling Griffin. "Can someone give me a hand here?"

Broderick was instantly by his side, assisting in restraining Kermit. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, as he made sure their prisoner wouldn't repeat another attack.

"Oh my God, he's not breathing."

Dumbfounded, Frank turned around, hoping he had misunderstood Skalany's shocking diagnosis, but when Epstein started CPR on Peter, the truth hit him like a ton of blocks. "Someone call 911," he barked to the stunned crowd, feeling helpless as Epstein continued with the procedure.

"Come on, partner," Skalany urged, her voice trembling. She reached out to take Peter's limp hand into her own. "Breathe."

As the seconds ticked away, the only sound that could be heard was Epstein's counting before he continued with the compressions on his former partner's chest.

Blake squeezed into the booth and glanced at Epstein. "I'll breathe for him, Epstein. You keep pumping his chest." He tilted Peter's chin upwards, inhaled, and forced a breath of air into Peter's lungs.

A lifetime passed before Peter started coughing, allowing Frank the chance to heave a heavy sigh of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Michael Blaisdell sitting off to the side, apparently annoyed that the altercation had ended.

Angered at the arrogance of his best friend's eldest son, Frank started to confront Michael but his attention quickly turned to Epstein, who made no attempt to hide his anger for Kermit.

"You moronic excuse for a computer genius. Let's see how you like it when somebody fights back!" Epstein pounded his knuckles into his hand as he approached the man wearing the dark sunglasses. "Rule number ninety-four: Always go with your first instincts and never second guess them. Well guess what? I'm going to take every suspicion I ever had about you and yank them right out of your throat."

"Epstein, back off," Frank ordered, using his most authoritative voice command. When the detective hesitated, Strenlich relaxed his grip on Kermit to confront Epstein. It was a mistake.

Kermit turned, catching Frank off guard. He shoved Strenlich up against the wall, using Frank's own weight to knock an unsuspecting Broderick on his backside. Griffin jammed his arm against Frank's throat and hissed through gritted teeth. "Out of loyalty to your father, Michael, I threw your butt in that stinking prison instead of killing you like the rest of the team wanted." he said, seemingly unaffected by Strenlich's dazed reaction.

Frank refused to fight back. He chose instead to listen to Griffin's erratic ramblings, hoping to discover a reason behind his strange behavior. Broderick and Epstein started to assist him, but he gave them a quick nod, an unspoken signal for the two to stay where they were.

"Helping Larson kill David wasn't enough revenge for you, was it?" Kermit asked, continuing to gibber in what Strenlich suspected was a drug-induced stupor. "Somewhere in that twisted brain of yours, you're planning to go after the Falcon too. The only problem, Michael, you're not in the Falcon's league. He won't be the easy target David was…"

The hammer of a gun stopped the crazy rambling.

"Let him go, Froggy," Epstein warned in a cold and hard voice. He shoved his gun into the back of Kermit's neck. "Either you're deranged or Pete has a thing for S & M. Since I don't know you from Jack, guess what I believe?"

Kermit glanced over his shoulder at Eppy, a glazed look of confusion crossing his face. He started swaying and then he suddenly slumped and lost his balance.

Frank reacted quickly, grabbing Kermit before he fell. He dragged the semi-conscious man to a nearby chair, allowing Griffin a chance to recover.

Kermit's hand flew to his head as a sharp pain hit him in between the eyes. He jerked and moaned several times before he brought the other hand up and used both to massage his temples.

Griffin blinked his eyes several times and then opened them to find everyone staring at him.

Confused, he looked at Strenlich and asked in a slurred tone, "Frank? What the hell?" he slowly stood up, his legs wobbly as they supported his weight. "I don't know what came over me. I - -"

"You nearly killed Peter, Kermit," Frank revealed, interrupting the man with the sobering truth. "If Blake and Epstein hadn't - - -" he stopped, unable to complete the explanation. He couldn't shake what could have happened and how helpless he had felt, nor fathom the idea of having to tell Blaisdell that his best friend had killed his son.

"Peter? I tried to kill Peter?" Kermit muttered, his voice sounded bewildered. He then glanced up and asked, "Why would I try to kill a friend?"

"Do I look like a Ouija board?" Epstein answered sarcastically. He glanced over his shoulder, concerned for the injured man. "How's tomato can?"

"He's conscious, but barely," Blake answered, staring down at Peter. A nervous look appeared on the electronic expert's face. "Chief, he looks terrible. He's having difficulty breathing."

"He needs a hospital," Epstein stated, glancing at the exit doors for the paramedics. "If that ambulance doesn't get here in the next second, I'm hauling Caine to the hospital myself."

A low moan sounded, and all eyes turned in Peter's direction. The young man coughed again.

"Easy partner, try not to move," Skalany urged, reaching down to calm the injured detective. She tried to assess the damage, but the instant she touched him, Peter jumped. She sucked in a deep breath, apologized, and turned back to Strenlich. "Epstein's right. He needs a hospital."

"No," Peter argued in a raspy voice that was barely above a whisper. He tried to sit up, but Blake and Skalany easily forced him back down.

"Ambulance is here!" someone shouted.

Frank glanced up and saw two paramedics entering the bar. "Over here," he instructed, walking to the table where his detective laid. He looked down at Peter, saw the injuries first hand, and hitched in a sharp breath. It was worse than he expected. "You're going to the hospital, Peter, and I don't want an argument."

"S…s…something's - -" Peter gasped painfully, swallowed, and then wet his lips before continuing, "Something's wrong with K…ermit, Frank."

"Something's wrong with Kermit?" Strenlich repeated. He would have laughed at the asinine statement if he weren't so worried. To make matters worse, Epstein stepped in, watching the paramedics work on the young man. When Peter jerked from the contact, Eppy shot Griffin a look that needed no explanation.

"Epstein," Strenlich warned, and glared at him, making sure he had the detective's attention. He knew he had to separate Epstein from Griffin before another problem got out of hand. "I want you to go with Caine to the hospital."

"B…but," Peter stuttered, trying to shove the paramedics away.

"But nothing, Caine. I said you're going to the hospital and that's final," Frank snapped, stopping the protest before it began. He grabbed Epstein's arm and pulled the man away from the paramedics so they could continue assisting their patient.

As Peter was carefully placed on a stretcher, Strenlich reached down and touched the young man's shoulder. Peter's hazel eyes glanced up, pleading for freedom, but Frank stood his ground. "Until I have a release paper from the hospital stating you're fit for duty, you're not to return to work. Is that understood, detective?"

"F…Fra - -"

Frank turned his back on the young man, refusing to listen to another denial of injury. He wanted an accurate diagnosis on Peter's condition before he even attempted to explain the situation Blaisdell. He wanted to keep the truth from the captain for as long as possible.

He glanced back at Kermit who seemed to be swaying. "Easy Kermit. I think you need a trip to the hospital too."

Griffin shook his head, refusing the advice. "I'll be alright, Frank."

"Not if I have a say in the matter," Epstein said, and took a step in Griffin's direction before Frank stopped him.

"Do as I told you, Epstein," Frank said in no uncertain tone. "Pete's ready to be transported. I want to be notified of his condition the instant you get it. Now go."

"Alright, Chief. We'll do it your way. For now," Epstein muttered. He turned and followed the paramedics and their patient out of the bar.

"Kermit, I'll drive you home," Broderick said, escorting the man towards the exit. "Blake can follow us in your car."

"W…what?" Blake stammered. "Drive Kermit's car? What if –"

"Then you take him home and I'll drive the car," Broderick declared, turned to Strenlich. "See you tomorrow, Chief." Then the three left the building.

As the crowd started dispersing, Strenlich purposely dropped down into the same booth with Michael Blaisdell determined to uncover the truth. He couldn't prove it, but he would almost stake his reputation on the fact that Kermit had been drugged.

"You want to tell me what went on here?" he asked Michael, furious at the attitude the younger man had displayed during the incident. "You call yourself a Blaisdell? A brother? You sat there and watched the whole thing and did nothing. Why?"

Michael stared at the burly ex-marine. "I thought when Peter won all those awards and commendations he could at least defend himself. I guess not." he said. He got up, dropped a few dollars on the table, and then pulled his keys out of his jacket. "It guess those strings the old man pulled for the kid didn't work out, did it? Makes me wonder if you got your job the same way."

Furious, Strenlich jumped to his feet. "Why you piece of - - "

"Don't get excited, Chiefy. You've got bigger problems to worry about than my accusations, don't you think?" Michael asked, almost laughing. "How do you think Dad is going to react when he learns his protégé attacked his precious foster son?"

Shocked at what he had just heard, Strenlich had to mentally stop himself from physically dragging the gloating man outside and beating the hell out of him.

"Now if you will excuse me," Michael said, and moved by Strenlich. Before he could take another step, Skalany confronted him. He tried to move past her but she blocked his path.

"Your own brother was being attack and you just sat there and watched. You didn't even lift a finger to help him." Mary Margaret jabbed a finger into the tall, blond-haired man's chest, and stated, accusingly, "I think you planned the whole thing. You actually wanted Kermit to kill Peter."

"Believe anything you want, woman, but we both know who assaulted Peter, don't we?" Michael sneered and shoved Skalany out of his way. "Do you know what the most amusing thing is about this whole incident? My father's team of faithful lackeys witnessed everything. How many of you are going to deny that when he finds out what happened?" With those last words he made his way out of the bar.

"As much as I think Michael Blaisdell is a jerk, he does have a point," Janet Morgan stated. "I always suspected Caine had been given special treatment, including those awards, because he was Blaisdell's brat. I knew he never earned them. He just proved that tonight."

"Those awards were for marksmanship, not defensive skills," Skalany countered.

"Well then that only leaves one explanation," Morgan said viciously. "The mystic Kwai Chang Caine isn't the perfect teacher you claimed him to be."

"Oh shut up!" Mary Margaret said and slapped the other woman, almost laughing at the shocked expression on Morgan's face. "I warned you what would happen if you ever said anything cruel or untrue about Peter or his father."

"I'm bringing you up on charges, Skalany," Janet stated, rubbing her jaw as she turned to Frank. "Chief Strenlich, you're my witness. I want her arrested for assault."

"Why? I didn't see a thing," Frank replied, winking at Skalany before turning his back on the two women. Let them work out their personal problems by themselves. It was time to call it a night. He had enough on his plate to worry about without adding more. Having to explain Peter's absence tomorrow was only the tip of the iceberg when he faced Blaisdell in the morning.

He would worry about that problem later. Knowing the diagnosis of his detective was a more important matter. He moved to the bar, found Terry, and paid his bill before he drove to the hospital, wondering if this night would ever end.

With only three hours sleep, sunrise came too quickly for Frank. Not only did he dread going to work, but it seemed the weather was against him as well. As he got dressed, he could hear the heavy rain pounding on his roof, giving him the ominous feeling that the day was going to be a disastrous one.

Molly remained asleep, unaware of what had happened the previous night. Not that it mattered, because the only time they talked these days was when they were arguing.

He made his way to the precinct, stood inside the doorway, and shook out the raindrops from his jacket before entering the building. As he walked through the bullpen, he found Blake fidgeting nervously behind his desk.

"Blake, my office. Now," Frank said, issuing the order not only for Blake's benefit but also for the precinct's gossipers, who seemed to hang around the coffee table.

The two men walked casually to Strenlich's office and once inside, Frank closed the door and asked, "Any word on Kermit?"

Blake paced the small office. "Broderick and I couldn't convince him to go to the hospital so we took him home and he slept most of the night. He woke up a few hours ago and seemed alright with the exception of a bad headache, so we left him at his apartment."

"Does he remember what happened?"

Blake shook his head. "No, and he won't admit it but it's really bothering him that he doesn't remember." He squeezed both hands together and shook them. "Chief, he was like a totally different person last night. He wasn't Kermit. It was like he was…" Blake paused, and stared at Frank. A look of disbelief lined his face before he spoke. "Well, I know this is going to sound silly, but it was like he was possessed."

"Or drugged. Somehow Michael Blaisdell drugged Kermit without anyone witnessing it," Frank added, running a tired hand over his face. "If Kermit had gone to the hospital and had some test run, then we would have more than just suspicions to work with concerning that arrogant bastard."

"Speaking of hospitals, what about Peter?"

"They kept him over night for observation. Epstein called, claiming Pete's being difficult, but that's nothing new. When I told Epstein to keep a lid on everything, he became irate and told me in no uncertain terms what I can do with my command. According to Eppy, Peter's throat is badly bruised."

"Oh God, if Blaisdell finds out..."

"He won't," Strenlich growled. He climbed to his feet and approached Blake. "I've already talked to Skalany and Epstein. The captain is to be kept in the dark until I can find out a way to tell him. Understand?"

Blake glanced at the door, and whispered as if he suspected someone might be eavesdropping, "Blaisdell has ways of finding things out."

"I know," the chief admitted in a somber tone.

Peter unlocked the front door to his apartment, stepped inside, and tried to slam it shut but Epstein blocked it with his foot.

"Hey, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you're trying to get rid of me," the burly detective said, forcing his way inside the apartment. "It's a good thing I'm not a sensitive guy."

Peter ignored the intrusion, walked into the small hallway, and climbed the two steps to his kitchen. He tossed the small white bag on the table and turned his attention to the refrigerator.

"Uh, tomato can," Epstein called, shaking the bag in his hand, "I don't think the doctor gave you these because he likes writing his name on small pieces of paper."

Peter glared at the man. He was confused, tired, and angry, and the last thing he wanted was someone watching over him like some mother hen. "Eppy, I don't need a baby sitter, you can leave."

He hoped his voice sounded normal so that it would prove to Epstein that he didn't need any more medication. Instead, it betrayed him, and came out hoarse and raspy. Embarrassed, he turned back to the refrigerator, refusing to give Epstein the chance to say 'I told you so.'

"While you're in there, fix me a sandwich and hold the mayo," Epstein said while going through the kitchen cabinets. "Hey, where do you keep the glasses? I want a beer."

Peter slammed the refrigerator door. Glass rattled from the impact. He glared at the man, and pointed in the direction of the front door. "Get out!"

"You sound like The Cookie Monster," Epstein laughed, and started imitating the famous Sesame Street character. "Me want Cookie! Me want you take medicine."

Peter stared at Epstein, believing he had finally flipped his lid. His mind made up, Peter decided it was time the senior officer realized who was in charge. Motioning with a nod of his head, he repeated for the third time since they had left the pharmacy. "I'm not taking those things."

"You're taking them or I don't leave this apartment," Epstein vowed. A vicious grin inched across his face before he shook a small bottle in front of the young man. "You can either swallow them or I'm going to insert them. Your choice."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would, and you know I would, kid," he declared. He shook the bottle again. "What's it going to be? Hurry up, I've got errands to run, broads to see, and places to be, and I can't do that until you're tucked into bed."

"Go!" Peter said, growing frustrated over his lack of control over the situation. Frank refused to allow him to return to work for the next three days, and Epstein was sticking to him like glue, delaying his plan to find Kermit. He wanted to learn for himself what had happened last night at the bar.

Epstein was no fool, getting by him would take an act of congress or at least an ingenious plan. A plan. Perhaps, the old quarterback sneak would work.

He snatched the bottle out of Epstein's grasp, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. Leaning over the counter, he popped a couple of the hated pills in his mouth, lodged them against the back of his molars, and started to drain the glass.

Epstein slapped the younger man across the back, dislodging the pills and Peter swallowed them before he had time to think. In a fit of rage, he turned and confronted the older man.

"Didn't work, did it?" Epstein asked, grinning like a teacher who had stopped an unruly student from completing an act of disobedience.

"Satisfied?"

"Didn't Doc tell you not to use your vocal cords unless it's an emergency? Acting like some smart ass doesn't classify as an emergency, kid." Epstein took the glass, glanced into the sink as if he were inspecting it.

Peter opened his mouth, ready to spout another sarcastic remark, but the burly detective cut him off. "That's the trouble with you- you never listen," Epstein sighed, shaking a finger in the younger man's face. "You know, if you were my dog, I'd swat you on the nose with a newspaper."

"And if I were your dog, I'd piss on your leg," Peter countered. "You're going to pay for this, Ep..." he started to yell, but his voice cut out. Shocked by the sudden loss of speech, his hand flew to his throat, making him instantly regret his inability to control his temper.

"That will teach you to run your mouth," Eppy stated unsympathetically. He stared at the younger man and then started walking around him as if he were a used car. "Kid, you don't know how long I've dreamt of this moment. For once I'm going to site some laws to you and there's not a single word you can say to stop me."

Peter glared defiantly at the detective, and then walked out of the kitchen, down the two steps and into his living room. He grabbed the remote, turned on the television, and turned the volume up as loud as he could before dropping down into a chair.

Epstein followed him, swatting the air with an open hand, pretending he just smacked the young man's head. He grabbed the remote out of his friend's hand, lowering the volume, and then wiggled his fingers. "Just to make sure you're still here when I get back, I want your car keys."

Peter looked at the ceiling before surrendering the Corvette's keys. He tried to utter a few choice words but he couldn't. It only angered him more when Epstein started laughing. That was it! Peter had had enough. He went to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"I can just feel the love in this room," Epstein shouted down the hall.

Waiting the longest fifteen minutes of his life, Peter came out of the bedroom. Satisfied that Epstein had finally gone, he moved back to the living room, picked up the phone book, and began searching for the number of the local taxi service.

Closing the door behind him, Frank strolled through the squad room, shaking his head in disbelief. He had just come from Blaisdell's office, informing the captain that three of his detectives were either late or had called in sick. Blaisdell normally took him at his word, but when asked the names of the missing detectives, the captain became suspicious. Kermit and Peter had never called in sick, and when he discovered Epstein was the officer tardy, Blaisdell demanded answers.

Having to lie to his captain was no easy task for the ex-marine. The man valued honesty above anything else, but Frank knew revealing the truth would have caused more harm than good.

He sighed, hoping the day would pass without further incident. He heard someone talking to Broderick. He turned to discover an unwanted guest in his precinct, Michael Blaisdell. Just seeing the man made Strenlich's blood pressure go up several points. Still seething over last night's incident, Frank wasn't in the mood to deal with this character. The sooner he got rid of the jerk, the better everyone would be.

Michael had signed the visitor's sheet, and had uttered something to Broderick that was inaudible to Frank's ears. Whatever it was, it angered the desk sergeant.

"Stay right where you are, Blaisdell," Strenlich said angrily. He met the visitor halfway inside the squad room, intentionally blocking the man from taking another step. "I want you out of here. You caused enough trouble last night and if I had my way, your ass would be behind bars right now."

"Thank goodness I can't be arrested by some fat cop whose only qualification is eating glazed doughnuts," Michael laughed, searching the area behind the chief. "Griffin's car isn't in the parking lot and Peter's not at his desk. Could last night's adventure have something to do with it?" The younger Blaisdell moved around Strenlich, and headed straight for the captain's office. "This should be interesting."

That was the last straw. Frank reached out, grabbed the taller man by the arm, and spun him around. "You listen good, you bastard. I've handled your type before. Size never mattered, and the result was always the same. Once the latrine was emptied, the stink disappeared." Michael tried to move, but Frank grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him forward. "You may have the old man snowed for now, but it will not last long."

"Release me or I'll file a police harassment charge against you and this entire precinct," Michael threatened. Frank wisely released him, allowing him to continue towards Blaisdell's office. Michael knocked twice on the door, shot Strenlich a smug look, and then walked inside the office.

Frank started for Blaisdell's office, realizing he no longer had the option of holding the truth from his friend. He didn't doubt for one minute that Michael's unexpected visit was a desperate attempt to turn the tables on the 101st members who had witnessed last night's events. If he didn't act fast, Michael would be giving the elder Blaisdell a twisted version of the truth, and putting the blame on someone else.

"Chief?" Broderick called out, holding the phone up. "You're wanted on line three."

"Take a message," he said moving closer to Blaisdell's office. "I've got to speak with the captain."

"It's Epstein."

That caught his attention. He reached over an empty desk and picked up the phone, praying Epstein had something positive to tell him. "What have you got, Epstein."

"Heartburn, but what else is new?" Epstein's replied. "The kid's tucked in, medicated, and not going anywhere for the next few hours."

"Get in here as soon as you can."

"Not until I see that bullfrog and really make him croak."

"I'm warning you for the last time, Epstein. If you go within speaking distance of Griffin, then you're suspended. Do I make myself clear?"

The phone line went dead. Strenlich raised his eyes and sighed.

The instant the door opened, Paul glanced up from his paperwork. A surprised look registered on his face when the visitor entered his office. "Michael, what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you," he said, glancing down at his watch, "and it's a little early for lunch."

"I came to see Peter and…"

"Peter called in sick."

"Peter called?" Michael challenged, stopping himself from almost laughing out loud. The perfect opportunity had finally arrived to turn the tables on those two buffoons outside in the squad room. "Did Peter call in or did someone call in for him?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" Paul asked. He stared at his son, and then dropped the pen he had been holding. "Michael, you're here for a reason. What is it?"

"This isn't a social visit, Dad," Michael admitted. He glanced outside the squad room, and discovered Broderick staring back at him. With an intentional wave at the desk sergeant, he slowly closed the door and then dropped down into an unoccupied chair across from Paul's desk.

Strenlich was on to him, that he was certain. No doubt they were waiting on some evidence that would prove Griffin's innocence and incriminate him. For that reason, Michael had spent most of the night mentally rehearsing different scenarios as to how he could make himself appear to have been the innocent bystander during Griffin's attack at the bar. After careful planning, the perfect strategy had emerged. Simply make his father believe him over the trusted officers of the 101st, especially Strenlich.

He lowered his head, and used the most emotional voice he could muster, "Dad, there's something I need to tell you." He swallowed hard and cleared is voice, trying to appear as distressed as possible. "I just don't know how to say this."

Paul pulled off his glasses and placed them on his desk. He climbed to his feet and approached the younger man. "Mike, what's going on?"

"This isn't easy for me," Michael said, and hesitantly looked up at his father. "Dad, it's about Kermit."

Paul sighed deeply. "Michael, I'm getting tired of this. If you and Kermit can't settle your differences then stay away from each other. It's gotten so bad that even Annie and Peter have picked up on it. The jealousy between the two of you is getting old."

"Jealousy! Is that what you think this is all about?" Michael demanded. He quickly jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the small office. "Do you actually think I would waste my time and yours by coming here just to hear you say that I'm jealous of Griffin?"

Blaisdell moved to the window and closed the office blinds. "Mike, since the first day I introduced you to Kermit, you've had an unhealthy obsession with him. No matter what he did, you always tried to surpass him. It became a competition between the two of you that almost cost Kermit his life. I had hoped since your return the two of you would bury the hatchet."

Michael seethed at his father's words, but the hateful expression didn't go unnoticed by Paul. "Mike, Kermit has risked his life more than once to save my life, and Peter's too. He has never asked for anything in return. Kermit's family and it's about time you realized it."

"Family? Him?" Michael threw his head back and laughed at the ridiculous statement. With a quick spin, he turned and stared at his father, determined once and for all to sever Griffin's ties with his father forever. "Your so-called loyal protégé has lied to your face and you never knew it. Wasn't it Kermit who told you I was killed while on a mission overseas?"

For almost two decades, Paul had tried blocking that disastrous mission from his memory, but one consent reminder still haunted him. He had been unable to retrieve Michael's body, and give his son a decent burial. Nightmares of abandoning his son to a cold uncaring world robbed him of many sleepless nights. He hesitated, but answered Michael's question, "Yes."

"Just as I thought. I bet you never questioned the validity of his statements, did you? You took Kermit's word at face value and never looked back. Well, let me tell you what really happened. Your friend, Kermit Griffin, threw me in a federal prison. I was never captured overseas."

Shocked, Paul's eyes widened. "W...what?"

Finally Michael had gotten the reaction he had been waiting for. Now, all he had to do was push the right buttons, sit back, and enjoy the show. "It's true. Griffin and Rykker jumped me before I could defend myself. They must have knocked me out because when I came to, I was in some dark prison. I spent almost five years in solitary confinement."

"Why? Why didn't you try to call me? Get word to me? Something?" Paul asked, dumbfounded by his son's revelations. "I had connections and you knew a lot of them. You were trained by the best. You knew how to make contact with me."

"How could I when Griffin blocked my attempts? Remember, he knew those same people as well as you and I did." Michael stared at the wall, recalling memories that still haunted his dreams. It was during those dark years that he swore he would get revenge on Griffin, and it felt damn good to finally get it. He took a deep breath and then added, "I was treated like an animal, Dad, and your best friend was the one behind it."

Paul shook his head, refusing to believe what Michael was saying. "It has to be a mistake. Kermit would never betray me. There's no reason for Kermit to do the things you're accusing him of doing."

"There was a reason," Michael countered, continuing with his web of lies. "Kermit was working for the leader of the drug cartel that the Company sent us overseas to take out. He fed them information on our whereabouts. That was why it wasn't a surprise when we raided them."

"No, not Kermit," Blaisdell said, continuing to support Griffin. "Mike, I don't know where you got this information, but Kermit would have never betrayed the Company, especially if I was heading the team."

Michael fell back into the seat he had vacated earlier and held up one finger. "We knew someone revealed our location, right?" Paul nodded and Michael continued, holding up another finger. "After our mission was unsuccessful, the team had to get out of the country fast. Didn't you think it was odd that Kermit didn't return with the rest of the team after he told you about my death?"

"Damage control," Paul answered, almost defensively. "He stayed behind to try to find out who had betrayed us."

"No. Griffin was paid a quarter of a million dollars to betray our team. He chartered a private plane back to the U.S. to fly that drug lord's shipment into the country without being searched. Since he had clearance from the CIA who would suspect him of drug trafficking?" Michael glanced up and saw the confusion on his father's face. "Dad, I know this is hard for you to believe. I know how much you trust Griffin, but he isn't loyal to you. He never has been."

Paul managed to drop into the chair next to Michael, his face a fraction of its normal color. "No, I…I couldn't have been that wrong."

"It wasn't your fault, Dad." Michael reached out and took his father's hand, trying to console him. "Kermit's a master manipulator. He conned you, turned you against me, and then had me locked away in some god-forsaken prison because of his insane jealousy. He's always wanted to be your son, and with me out of the way he took that position, didn't he?"

"Kermit knew how your death effected me. He wouldn't have lied to me about something like that." Paul closed his eyes and turned his head away when Michael nodded. The older man climbed to his feet, and walked away to stare out the window. Keeping his back to his son, Blaisdell spoke, his voice almost unrecognizable due to the pain and confusion he was experiencing. "How could I have been so wrong about a man I've loved like a son?"

Michael had to lower his head to keep from laughing. Once he regained control of himself, he continued with the deceit. "When Kermit and Rykker attacked me, I thought you had ordered it. They were your friends, they obeyed you without question."

His father spun around at hearing the shocking allegation. He rushed over and reached down. Cupping Michael's cheek, his father pleaded, "Michael, believe me, I never knew. Do you actually think I would do something so vicious to my own child?"

"What was I suppose to believe, Dad? This was Kermit, the man you loved, and the man you told me to treat like an older brother. I spent most of my time in solitary confinement believing it was you who put me there. I hated you. God, how I hated you."

"I'm so sorry son, Michael. If I had only known, you never would have gone through what you did." Blaisdell's mood changed from sorrow to anger in a heartbeat. "It was all a lie. A damn lie. How many more has he told me over the years?"

"I was willing to let everything stay buried in the past, but last night something happened and I couldn't just sit back and let Kermit get away with it any longer. I knew I had to tell you the truth before things got worse."

His father's blue eyes narrowed. "What happened last night?"

"It started with that argument Kermit and I had in the precinct yesterday and it escalated from there," Michael explained. "That argument was just another one of Kermit's jealous rants. There were a lot of them before he had me put in prison, but he always made sure you weren't around to see them. This time it happened in public, and as usual, you took his side."

Blaisdell looked away, guilt weighing heavily on his face as Michael's barb struck home.

"I'm not blaming you, Dad. Kermit had planned everything out perfectly. You only saw what he wanted you to see." Michael glanced up at his father and said, "The only thing I regret is that I didn't catch on to his little game until it was too late. Kermit warned me to stay out of your life, or someone would get hurt. I had no idea he meant Peter."

"Peter?" Paul asked with concern. "Mike, what does Kermit have to do with Peter?"

"I called his apartment last night and couldn't get an answer. When I discovered his car was missing from the parking lot, I got worried. I knew something had happened…"

"Peter's sick. I told you that." Paul's voice took on an edgy tone. "Frank took the call."

"He's lying to you, Dad."

"Lying?" Paul looked back at him in disbelief. "Frank's never lied to me. Why would he start now?"

"Strenlich is protecting Griffin. Kermit has turned your entire precinct against me." Michael slowly walked to the door, stalling for time. He knew his father was hanging on his every word now. He glanced out the door and saw Strenlich glaring back at him. Between the chief and the desk sergeant, Michael was convinced they were taking turns keeping him within their sights. He flashed a wicked grin at Strenlich, and turned back to his father. Showtime. "Griffin tried to kill Peter last night. Strenlich almost had to handcuff Griffin to keep him off the kid."

Paul's emotions quickly went from denial to pure rage. He was at the door in two steps, nearly knocking Michael down as he opened it. "Frank," he shouted out into the bullpen, "my office, now."

Michael tapped his foot, waiting for the fun to begin. Everything was going better than he had originally planned. After Frank entered the office, Paul slammed the door so hard that the glass almost fell out of the frame.

Blaisdell leveled Strenlich with a deadly stare. "Tell me what happened last night, and I want the truth."

"Paul…"

"Frank, is my son sick or did Kermit assault him?"

Frank shook his head. "We really don't know what happened last night. Blake and I think Kermit was drugged."

"That's not what I asked you."

Frank shot a quick glare at Michael, making sure the younger Blaisdell knew that payback was going to be hell. The chief cleared his throat, and then paced the length of the small office before he spoke, "This is Kermit we're talking about, Paul. You know he would never hurt that kid. Hell, he's known him since he was a teenager."

"I thought I knew Kermit. It seems I was wrong," Paul replied. "Is Peter home?"

"Eppy took him home."

"Be here when I get back, Frank. I want to find a full report on last night's incident on my desk, including the names of everyone who witnessed it." Paul opened the door, turned, and asked Michael, "You coming with me? I'm going to check on your brother."

"Yeah," Michael answered, and then waited until his father had entered the squad room before he spoke to Strenlich, "Not as big as you thought you were, are you Chiefy?" He then quickly followed his father outside.

Peter balled his hand into a fist and started banging on the closed door. When he received no answer, he pounded harder. He knew Kermit was at home because the man's prized car was still parked in the parking lot.

He glanced down the hallway, in both directions, making sure he was still alone before he pulled out a small tool Donny Double D had given him. He slide the device inside they keyhole, turned it until he heard a click. With a victorious smile, he removed the tool and slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

As he cautiously opened the door, he stifled a yawn, suddenly realizing how tired he had become. Sleep was simply a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment. Time was short, and he had to speak with Kermit before word of what happened last night got back to his foster father.

Peter stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. The apartment was dark and quiet, almost like a tomb. He moved to the window and opened the blinds.

A low moan sounded somewhere from behind him. He turned and found Kermit stretched out on the couch. The man's eyes were closed, and he held an ice pack to the side of his head. The trademark sunglasses were missing.

Peter sat down on the edge of the table by the couch. To the young cop, his friend looked like he was suffering from a major hangover. In a low voice, he said, "Kermit?"

Griffin's eyes snapped open and, just as quickly, shut them again.

Peter quickly shut the curtains to darken the room and then asked, "Better?"

Kermit slowly opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the little light that was filtering though. "Oh yeah," he said, and managed to sit up with Peter's assistance. It took several minutes before he got his bearings.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee," Kermit answered groggily. Peter started to go to the kitchen but Kermit grabbed his arm. "You want to explain why you sound like you just swallowed a truck load of sand," he asked. Suddenly, last night's events flashed through his mind, and with a remorseful sigh, Kermit lowered his head. "Peter, I don't know what to say."

"Kermit, what happened to you last night at Chandlers?" Peter asked, disregarded the apology. It wasn't needed, nor was it the reason for the visit. He wanted answers that only Kermit could provide. He moved to the couch and sat down beside his friend. "Do you remember anything before you started that argument with Michael?"

"Michael," Kermit hissed. He repeated the name again and then jerked his head upwards. His eyes widened and he turned his head and stared at the younger man. Uncharacteristically, he reached out and squeezed Peter's shoulder. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

"N…no," Peter stuttered, and then winced at how phony he sounded. How could he expect someone of Kermit's caliber to believe him when even a child wouldn't have been fooled?

"Peter."

Unable to meet Kermit's scrutinizing stare, he turned away.

"Peter, look at me," Kermit demanded, but the order was ignored. The senior detective removed his hand from Peter's shoulder, and moved closer. "You're either hiding something or you're lying to me."

"Look, Kermit, I don't see why..." his words were painfully cut off when Kermit unpredictably reached out and roughly squeezed his chin. The intense pain caused him to gasp for air, dashing any plans he had of hiding his injuries from his friend.

"Oh my God," Kermit said, and quickly pulled his hand away. In a concerned voice, the ex-mercenary asked, "What did I do to you?"

Embarrassed, Peter got to his feet, zipped up his jacket, and pulled up the collar before he glanced back at Kermit. "Kermit, it was my fault. I should have known better than to try to grab you from behind."

"You're a lot of things, Peter, but stupid isn't one of them. I know you. You had a reason," Kermit stated. "What was it?"

Another lie would have been fruitless. "You were going to attack Michael. I couldn't just stand by and let it happen," Peter began, trying to make his friend understand that he wasn't at fault. "Look, I know you weren't yourself last night. Do you remember anything that could have happened? Did you leave your drink long enough for someone to slip something in it?"

Kermit rubbed his temples with his hands, trying to stop what must be the mother of all headaches. "Can we hold off with the inquisition for awhile, or least until the jackhammer in my head stops?"

"Come on Kermit," he pleaded. "I know you're keeping something from me."

Kermit glanced at him; a look of uncertainty crossed his features before he spoke. "Sit down. I've got something to tell you about your so-called brother."

Peter slowly sat back down.

"Michael Blaisdell would do anything to further his own agenda," Kermit began. "I was drugged last night, and Michael was the only one who could have done it."

Peter opened his mouth, ready to demand proof of his friend's claim.

"Hear me out," Kermit demanded, holding up his hand to stop the questions before they could be asked. Slowly he got off the couch and started pacing. "He's not the man he appears to be. Paul doesn't have a clue about what Michael has done. He's killed people, including…" Kermit's voice trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much information about David's death. Years ago, he had sworn on David's grave to get revenge all those responsible for his brother's death. In time, Larson would pay dearly for his role, but not until he dealt with Michael. He glanced back at Peter, and continued, "Michael killed someone very special to me."

"Who?" Peter asked, getting to his feet. "How do you know Michael was involved?"

"Because last night he admitted it. He grinned like a demon out of hell when he told me. That was the reason I was trying to ram his face into the table," Kermit answered, and continued to pace. "I don't remember what happen after that. It's all a blur. I see bits and pieces- my hands around your throat, Frank up against a wall. Just images."

Peter tried absorbing the information Kermit was telling him but everything kept going back to one question. "Why does Michael hate you, Kermit?"

"He has a personal vendetta against me," Kermit sighed. "Peter, I'm going to be honest with you. I knew Michael wasn't dead. He's been in prison all this time. I had him put there."

"What?"

"It's true," Kermit admitted. "Years ago, during a mission overseas, I discovered Michael had sold us out, including his own father. If a mutual friend hadn't warned me, we would have been captured and executed as enemies of the state. In order to protect its interest overseas, our government would have denied any involvement, and nobody would have known about the failed mission."

"Or what happened to the group," Peter added, understanding what could have happened if Michael's betrayal hadn't been uncovered in time.

"Exactly." Kermit paced the floor several times before he spoke again. "Rykker and I decided to handle Michael ourselves. We both agreed to keep the truth from Paul. We figured it was best to let Paul believe Michael had died instead of letting him learn his son had been the one supplying information to terrorist groups overseas."

"Kermit, you had to know that he would have gotten out one day."

"No. I made sure Michael was locked away in a top secret maximum security prison. Only a few people even know of its existence. It had to be a powerful individual who got him out, and I've been racking my brain trying to figure out who that person could be."

"You and Paul have a lot of powerful enemies," Peter said, running his hand through his hair. "You have to tell him."

"No!"

"Kermit, if you don't tell him Michael might try something else, and this time Paul might not be so lucky." Peter stared down at the carpet, recalling the incident last night, including the role Michael had played. "Paul has to be told. If something were to happen to him…"

"All right, but it's not going to be easy," Kermit reluctantly agreed, and then glanced down at his clothes. Realizing he must have slept in them, he chuckled. "Let me go shower and then we'll go talk to Paul."

"I'll make some coffee," Peter offered. He rushed to the kitchen to escape the guilty waves he felt radiating off his friend. There was nothing he could do or say that would make Kermit forget what had happened, at least not until Kermit was willing to forgive himself.

No sooner had the coffee started brewing when the last of Peter's adrenalin finally disappeared. He uttered a curse, wishing he had belted Epstein for forcing him to swallow those damn pills. He leaned against the small kitchen bar, mentally willing himself to stay awake.

The aroma of coffee scenting the air caused his tired body to regain its second wind, or so he hoped. He grabbed a coffee mug and then walked back to the living room. He unzipped his jacket and tossed it across the back of the recliner, believing the room temperature was too cozy, and the cause behind his drowsiness.

With Kermit in the shower and the coffee still brewing, the sofa never looked so inviting. He sat down, leaned back, and was surprised how comfortable it felt. Stretching out, he allowed his head to rest on the arm of the couch and before he realized it, his eyes closed. Within seconds, Peter was asleep. The coffee mug fell out of his hand and dropped harmlessly to the carpeted floor.

Michael followed close behind his father, stepping out of the elevator of the high-rise building. They walked the length of the hallway before stopping at the last apartment on the floor.

Paul balled his hand into a fist and knocked on the door. When nobody responded from the other side, he banged harder. "Peter? It's me. Open the door."

"Maybe he's not home," Michael goaded, "Maybe he's still in the hospital."

"He's here. His car's in the parking lot," Paul replied. He pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door.

Michael sidestepped his father, entering the apartment first, and then waited until his father closed the door.

The two men were surprised to find the apartment buzzing with activity. The television was on, the microwave was humming, and the smell of pizza filled the air, but there was no sign of Peter.

"Kid!" Epstein's voice thundered from one of the two bedrooms. Heavy footsteps stumped up the small hallway. "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm really going to get mad." The detective came to an abrupt halt when he saw the two unexpected visitors in the living room. "Captain, I…"

"Where's Peter?" Blaisdell demanded, not wasting words on a greeting.

"You tell me," Epstein said, and then climbed the two steps leading into the kitchen to shut off the microwave. "He's supposed to be flat on his ass in the bedroom back there, doing an impression of Rip Van Winkle." Epstein yanked open the microwave door and held up a slice of pizza, shaking it until the toppings started falling off. "Out of the goodness of my heart, I spent a good portion of my laughable paycheck on this thing, only to have it sit on the table and get cold because that jackass you call a son decided to go AWOL."

"Some detective you are, Officer Epstein. I would think by now with all your experience you would have…"

"Michael," Blaisdell warned, the steel blue eyes pierced him into silence. "I don't need your crap right now."

"Not that I'm admitting I'm wrong because Mr. Motor Mouth over there thinks I am, but when I made Pete take those pills I thought it would have knocked him out on his butt by now," Epstein admitted with remorse. "I'm sorry I let you down, Captain."

Michael walked into the living room, leaving the two older men alone to continue their conversation. He noticed the open phone book by the table and picked it up. "Looks like Peter called a taxi," he declared, holding up the book to show the other men. "Do you have any idea which one he called?"

Paul picked up the phone and hit the re-dial button. "This is Captain Paul Blaisdell from the 101st precinct. Let me speak to the person in charge. It's urgent." Paul tapped his foot impatiently until someone answered on the other end. "I need information on the passenger that was picked up at this address," he said and then gave them the address.

"I take it you didn't like what you heard," Michael said when his father slammed the phone down. "Any clue where Peter went?"

"The taxi dropped your brother off one block from Kermit's apartment building. I guess he hoped it would throw me off his trail," Paul said as he hurried out of the apartment. "Well, he was wrong."

Michael had a hard time keeping up with his father. How a man his age could walk so fast, he couldn't guess, but he figured his father was motivated by anger and concern.

By the time they reached Paul's Lincoln, Michael was out of breath. He slowly climbed inside the car and buckled his seat belt. "Dad, Kermit might… I mean, after last night who knows what he's capable of."

Paul remained silent. His facial expression said it all. He started the car and drove the car as fast as the heavy morning traffic would allow.

Michael glanced at his father and then stared out the window. He smiled at the reflection staring back at him. Revenge, nothing was sweeter. He opened the glove compartment, pulled out the handgun that he knew would be inside, and checked the ammunition.

Satisfied the weapon was loaded, he leaned back into the seat, regretting that only one small detail had cost him total victory. If that waitress hadn't interfered, then the drug he had given Griffin would have lasted long enough for Kermit to kill his so-called brother. A few minutes longer and everything would have been perfect. Peter would be dead, and his father wouldn't have thought twice about killing Griffin.

Half an hour later, Kermit emerged from of the bedroom feeling at least human again. He smelled coffee brewing, and headed towards the kitchen. "I hope that stuff tastes as good as it smells."

Finding the kitchen empty and the coffee machine still on, he reached up and pulled down a mug. He filled it and walked into the living room, where he found his missing visitor asleep on the sofa.

Taking a big swallow of the steaming beverage, Kermit stepped further into the room. Peter's neck was exposed, giving Kermit a clear view of the bruises his friend had tried so hard to conceal. With a deep sense of remorse Kermit turned away, unable to endure the sight of what he had done to his friend. It only served as a reminder of how dangerous he could be when he wasn't in control.

He picked up the discarded cup, took one last glance at Peter, and returned to the kitchen to deposit both mugs into the sink. With the decision made to reveal the truth about Michael, Kermit anticipated one hell of a confrontation with Paul Blaisdell. First, he owed Peter a favor. It was the least he could do.

His bed wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable. With relative ease, he gently lifted the younger man over his shoulder and carried him to the back bedroom where a full-sized bed awaited. Placing the comforter carefully over Peter, Kermit managed a slight grin. "Face it, Griffin, you're getting soft," he whispered as he shut the door behind him.

Walking back into the living room, he reached down, picked up his wallet, and started for the door. There was a knock, and when he opened the door, he saw Paul Blaisdell standing in front of him.

"Paul…"

Without warning, Paul slammed the unsuspecting Kermit up against the wall. Griffin didn't have time to recover as Blaisdell jammed an arm against his windpipe. A look of pure rage swept across the older man's features, and in that split second Kermit realized his friend intended to kill him.

Kermit refused to defend himself. The years of working closely with Blaisdell had given him insight as to how the older man operated. He knew antagonizing him further would only darken Paul's mood. On several occasions when that had happened, someone had died by the Falcon's hands. For now, it was best to remain submissive and hope his friend would regain his senses.

"Why? Just tell me why you let me believe Michael was dead when you knew the truth?" Paul demanded, and released the hold he had on Kermit, but didn't back away. Instead Paul pierced Kermit with a glare more intense than any blade ever had. In an effort to avoid the deadly stare, Kermit lowered his head, but was unable to block Blaisdell's accusations. "You knew what Michael's death did to me. Was it some sick joke you enjoyed playing all these years?"

The words hurt, but Kermit swallowed his emotions as well as his pride, understanding they were spoken out of anger, hurt, and what Paul believed was a betrayal. He sighed, and said in a calm voice, "Paul, you've only been told one side of the story, Michael's side. If you would…"

"I don't want to hear any more of your damned lies," Blaisdell roared. "You tried to ruin Michael's life. I'm not about to let you destroy another member of my family. I trusted you once, but I'll never make that mistake again. I want to know where…"

"Dad," Michael interrupted, calling from across the room. The younger Blaisdell held up a black leather jacket, showing it to his father. "Isn't this Peter's?"

Blaisdell looked around the apartment, frantically searching for something. Furious, he grabbed Kermit by the shirt, and slammed him back into the wall. "Where's my son? I swear to God, if you've hurt him again, I'll kill you myself."

"If I…" Kermit's voice trailed off. The idea that Paul actually thought he would intentionally hurt Peter made him curse under his breath. Kermit moved his shoulder and winced. Being Paul's personal punching bag was making him lose what little restraint he had left. "Paul," he hissed through gritted teeth, "back down."

Neither the warning nor the words fazed Blaisdell, who continued his accusations. "From what Mike told me, if he hadn't pulled you off Peter, you would have killed him."

Kermit glared at Michael. So the bastard had lied through his teeth. Well, so much for being tactful. He turned back to Paul. "Peter's in the back room, asleep. If you don't believe me, go check for yourself."

Blaisdell backed away, retreating a few steps until he was standing in the middle of the room. With a last glance at Michael, Paul quickly disappeared down the hallway.

"This simply isn't your day, is it, Kermit?" Michael goaded, keeping his voice low so the conversation wouldn't travel out of the room. He folded the leather jacket and tossed it back where he had found it. "Too bad your mercenary skills aren't what they use to be. Things might have been a lot more interesting if they were."

Usually his small office was perfect, but with Skalany, Epstein, Blake, and Broderick crowded into the same room, Strenlich felt like a sardine. If he wanted his space back, he had to collect the written reports Blaisdell had demanded from the group.

Mary Margaret handed Strenlich a piece of paper then returned to her seat. "Here's my version of what happened last night, and I'm not changing a single word. I don't care if I get suspended, but I'm not about to make Kermit the villain in this insanity."

Frank read her report and then glanced at the others he had collected. What was written didn't surprise him. "Well it's almost unanimous. Blake and Broderick are saying the same thing. So am I, but I don't think the old man is going to be happy."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Epstein said, staring at the four in disbelief. "That sunglasses-wearing nerd nearly killed Peter! Am I the only one in here who remembers that?" He shot a look in Strenlich's direction. "If you hadn't pulled him off the kid, do you think we would be having this conversation now? Hell no!"

Broderick cleared his throat, and said, "Epstein, we know Kermit a lot better than you do. Last night, he was not the same man we know. Don't be so quick to judge him!"

"Well call Mr. Rogers since it's a wonderful day in the neighborhood!" Epstein spit back, "Next thing I know, you're going to tell me Griffin puts on a knitted sweater the second he's outta the precinct."

"Epstein, why don't you think before you open your mouth?" Strenlich asked. "I know how you feel about Peter, and what happened last night scared the hell out of me, too. But I also know Kermit, and under no circumstances would he deliberately hurt Peter."

"And just to play devil's advocate," Mary Margaret added, "do you think he would have been stupid enough to do it in a public place? No, he wouldn't. It was something else that made Kermit behave the way he did. I'd state my career on it."

"You still think he was drugged?" Eppy asked, watching the group before he relented with a deep sigh. "Alright, I'll state the same in my report, but it doesn't mean I have to like the guy."

Blake cracked a smile. "I'm sure the feeling is mutual."

Paul glanced inside the dark bedroom mentally debating if he should enter the room and check on his son. From the doorway, he could easily hear Peter's soft breathing reassuring him that the young man was sleeping peacefully.

Satisfied, he started to turn back up the hallway, but something he couldn't pinpoint caught his attention and made him stop in his tracks. Concern quickly returned, and he stepped inside the bedroom and silently made his way towards the bed.

The only light that illuminated the room came from what little sunlight that managed to squeeze through the closed slats of the mini blinds. Kermit deliberately kept the room dark in case he worked nights giving the bedroom the appearance it was still dark outside.

As he approached, Paul could make out the silhouette of his sleeping son. In one swift motion, he dropped down on the edge of the bed, reached out, and gently swiped the hair out of Peter's face.

You need a haircut, he laughed to himself, regretting that he no longer had the authority to make such a request.

At that exact moment, Peter moaned and then turned over on his side.

From the new angle, Paul noticed the dark blotches that adorned his son's neck. Curious, he leaned in closer to investigate and then hitched in a deep breath, "What the…" he muttered, instantly recognizing that what he first thought were blotches, were in reality bruises.

He turned and stared out into the hallway in a desperate attempt to fight back the renewed anger that was quickly rebuilding. So deep in thought, he almost jumped off the bed when his arm was grabbed.

Paul looked down, and saw his son looking up at him with confused, sleepy eyes. "Peter," he said in a calm, reassuring voice as he reached down to caress the young man's cheek. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Paul," the voice croaked with pain and sleepiness. "What are you doing here?"

Blaisdell reached for the lamp sitting on the nightstand and flipped the switch.

Peter quickly raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the sudden bright light.

"Sorry," Blaisdell muttered an apology before lowering the light to a more suitable level. He then turned his attention back to his son.

As if Peter was reading his mind, the young man tried to escape Paul's reach by sitting up.

Paul forced him back into the bed. "It's not going to work Peter. I saw the bruises, and I know who put them there."

Peter blinked in disbelief, then immediately began his defense of Kermit. "Paul, it wasn't Kermit's fault. He…"

"No," Paul snapped, giving Peter his most intense glare. "Don't you dare defend him after what he's done to you and Michael."

At the mention of his name, Michael spoke from the hallway. "Dad?"

Paul turned and saw his son standing inside the doorframe. Suspicious and angered over the possible eavesdropping, he demanded, "How long have you been standing there?"

"I was coming to get you," Michael answered, quickly offering an explanation. "Strenlich called Griffin looking for you. He wants you back at the office. Evidently something's come up."

Paul released a heavy sigh. "Frank wouldn't call Kermit if it wasn't important." He stood up and started to grab the phone on the nightstand, but he caught a glimpse of Kermit standing in the hallway.

He started towards the door, but Peter grabbed his arm. "Paul, don't."

Paul glared down at his son. "You stay out of this," he snarled, and then fixed his gaze on Griffin. "This is between me and Kermit."

"No, it's not!" Peter shouted, and hurled himself off the bed. Still under the effects of the sedative, the sudden movement caused him to sway.

Paul reached out and grabbed him, steadying the young man until the waves of dizziness eased. "Michael, get your brother's coat. I'm taking him home before I go back to the precinct."

"Kermit can take me home," Peter protested. He dropped down on the bed and looked up at the older man. "Paul, I'm not a child. I don't need you to chauffer me around."

"You may not be a child," Michael taunted, "but you sure as hell don't have the maturity to separate your friends from your enemies."

"I know who my friends are," Peter declared, and then added, "and I know who my enemies are even better."

The bitter hostilities didn't go unnoticed by Blaisdell. In his opinion there was only one man to blame for the rift between the two brothers. "You're determined to destroy my family, aren't you, Kermit?"

"Why don't you blame me for the depletion of the ozone layer, while you're at it, Paul?" Kermit retorted. "After all, you refuse to believe anything but Mike's version."

"I don't see a scratch on you, Kermit," Paul stated. "Is it because you didn't give my son a chance to defend himself?"

"Come on Paul. Don't blow off a friendship in a fit of rage. You're too angry to even listen to Kermit right now," Peter said. "Go home. Calm down. Then the two of you can talk this out later."

Paul reached down and lifted his son's chin. The dark bruises stared back at him, reminding him of the truth. "I'm supposed to forget this happened? Not a chance in hell."

"I've forgiven him, because I know what happened last night wasn't his fault." Peter placed his hand on his foster father's shoulder and pleaded, "Please Paul, leave before you do something you'll regret later."

Paul sighed and took a deep breath before relenting, "Alright Peter, I'm leaving, but only because of you." He glanced at Griffin and vowed, "We'll finish this later, Kermit. Bet on it."

"Oh yeah," Kermit said, not intimidated by Blaisdell's threat.

Michael walked into the hallway, and then looked back. "Coming Petey? I don't think Dad wants you hanging around with," he shot a conniving glance towards Kermit, and added with laughter, "the traitor."

"I think that's your title, Michael," Peter said, returning the laugh. "I'm willing to bet a month's salary that Paul doesn't know the real reason Kermit and Rykker locked your sorry ass in prison?"

Michael jerked upright, shocked at what he had just heard.

"Surprised Mike?" Kermit gloated. "It seems not everyone was fooled by your snow job."

"The old man believes me and that's all that matters," Michael said confidently. He pointed a finger at Peter. "Be warned, _brother_, that fence you're sitting on is starting to shake. It only takes a quick snap of my fingers and I'll turn Dad against you, too." With those last words, Michael left the apartment.

Half an hour later, Blaisdell and his oldest son walked into the police station. He took the reports from Frank's hands and entered his office without saying a word.

Strenlich nodded in Blake's direction. The detective quietly got up and 'accidentally' bumped into Michael, and then offered an apology. "Sorry," he said, walking away.

Michael glanced at the man, shrugged, and made himself at home. He dropped into Peter's vacant seat and picked up the phone. Looking at everyone staring at him, he smirked, "Oh don't mind me. Pretend I'm not here."

"If only we were so lucky," Mary Margaret muttered under her breath before her phone started ringing. She picked it up. "Skalany." She listened, and a smile spread across her face. "That's great news. I'll tell them. Thanks for calling. Bye."

Frank waited as she hung up the phone. "Well?"

"That was the hospital," Skalany replied, still smiling. "Roger just woke up."

The precinct responded with a loud roar.

Hearing the noise, Blaisdell came out of his office. After being notified of the good news, his bad mood was forgotten. "Skalany get over to the hospital and see if he can give us a statement."

Mary Margaret grabbed her purse and left the precinct. She met Blake on his way back inside and told him the news.

During the excitement, Michael Blaisdell quickly stepped out of the precinct unnoticed, or so he thought. He headed across the street and disappeared into the three-story building.

Two pairs of eyes watched from the parking lot.


	5. Chapter 5

**PAST REGRETS**

**Kaleidopy**

V

Kermit watched Michael disappear inside the building across the street and then flashed a smile of satisfaction. "Some things in life are a sure bet: death, taxes, and the arrogance of Michael Blaisdell."

The man sitting next to him didn't reply. He just stared out at nothing in particular.

Kermit glanced at his passenger, and wished he had gone with his first instinct and taken the younger man home. It was obvious Peter's mind was somewhere else. Since the incident at the apartment, Peter had become subdued, almost to the point of withdrawing entirely.

His friend's mood was only temporary. Of that Kermit was certain, because Peter Caine never stayed quiet long. All he needed was a little nudge to change his disposition.

"You still look like crap, Peter. Why don't you let me take you home before Paul finds out you tagged along?"

"And miss all the fun?" Peter asked jokingly, but the laughter quickly died. "I can't help but think about Paul and what…."

"That's exactly how Rykker and I felt. Unlike you, we didn't have the luxury of knowing the truth until it was almost too late," Kermit admitted. For just that one time, he wished he hadn't been so loyal to Paul Blaisdell. If Michael had been any other man's son, he wouldn't have hesitated in terminating the slime ball.

Kermit started to get out of the car, but a Ford Taurus pulled up and Mary Margaret stuck her head out of the window and laughed. "Well if it isn't Starsky and Hutch, but without the Torino."

"Do I look like someone who would drive around in a red tomato?" Kermit asked, annoyed.

"No," Peter replied, as he scrutinized the vehicle they were occupying. "You drive a lime."

Kermit glared at the younger man. Nobody insulted his car. "You can get out and walk."

"Gladly," Peter said as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. "I've got a reputation to uphold, and being seen in a car that could be used in a Lime-A-Way commercial could possibly ruin me for life."

Mary Margaret waited until Peter walked by her car before she reached out and grabbed his arm. In a concerned voice, she asked, "How are you doing, partner? After last night…"

Again, Peter immediately came to his friend's defense. "It wasn't Kermit's fault. He didn't…"

Skalany raised her hand, cutting him off. "Nobody is blaming Kermit, Peter," she said, glancing at Griffin. "I think we all know whose fault it was."

"Going somewhere, sweetcakes?" Kermit asked.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Mary Margaret said, flashing a big grin. "We just got some great news! Roger's awake and alert. I'm on my way to the hospital to see him. You two want to come along?"

Peter stared at the building across the street. "What about Michael?"

"Peter, I know what you're thinking and the answer is no," Kermit said, pointing a finger at the younger man. "You're not sneaking around in that building without backup. So forget it."

"Can I at least get a statement from Roger at the hospital, or does that require backup, too?" Peter countered sarcastically.

"In case you've forgotten, you're off duty. Go home."

"I don't have my car," Peter stated, looking around the parking lot. "What do you expect me to do? Walk?"

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Skalany asked. She leaned over the front seat and opened the passenger door. "Come on, partner. You can ride with me to the hospital. Let's hope Roger can identify his attacker."

"I'm going to see if I can talk some sense into Blaisdell," Kermit stated. His co-workers drove off, leaving him staring at the precinct. "Well, I've put this off long enough." He started to open the car door, but his pager beeped. He checked the number and wondered what the caller wanted. He pulled out his cellular, and he dialed the very familiar phone number.

"Hello," said the woman on the other end.

"You rang, my beautiful lady?" Kermit replied. "Or beeped rather."

"Ah! My knight in shining green glasses." Kermit could hear the grin in her voice. "Glad to know that your response time hasn't diminished over the years."

"Not for you at least, my dear."

"You're so sweet. But you should be careful about throwing so many compliments my way. What would my husband think if he heard you talking that way?"

"Surely he would realize that every word I speak is the truth. And if he had a problem, well then, I guess I'd just have to challenge him to a duel for your fair hand." He didn't mention that he and Paul were already in a duel of honor at the moment.

Annie and Kermit both laughed at his last statement, and then she said, "Seriously, Kermit, as much as I enjoy it, I called other than just to listen to your flattery. Can you meet me for lunch?"

Kermit couldn't resist one more line. "Does this mean my dream is finally coming true and you are leaving Paul for me?"

"Kermit!" Annie chided. "Please. We have to talk."

"About what?" he asked having finally gotten serious.

"Not what, who? And I think you know who I am speaking of."

Kermit inhaled sharply. "When and where?"

"Aubrey's, at noon today."

Kermit knew the quiet little out of the way restaurant that Annie had named. "I'll see you there."

Kermit walked into Aubrey's and looked around. Finding Annie, he made his way over to her table and cleared his throat so he wouldn't startle her. "Ahem, excuse me Miss."

Though he knew the topic of conversation was serious, he was still in a playful mood. "I'm supposed to be meeting a blind date here. I don't suppose you're her? You match her description: petite, blonde, beautiful, and you're wearing sunglasses inside to boot. Just like me. I think we're a match made in heaven."

Annie stood up and turned to face him. Smiling, she said, "Kermit, normally I'd love to banter with you, but..."

Kermit leaned over and kissed his old friend on the cheek. "I know, I know. We need to talk. Your wish is my command, my lady."

As he helped her back into her seat, he didn't notice the man hidden across the room taking pictures of them. The cameraman pulled out a phone and dialed a number. "I followed her to Aubrey's. Griffin is here with her."

A pause and then, "I'm way ahead of you. I've already got some good pictures." Another pause. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

After the waitress had taken their orders, Kermit looked at Annie and said, "So, you wanted to talk to me about Paul's son."

"No," Annie replied, "I wanted **YOU** to talk to **ME** about him."

"Uh, I don't follow."

"Don't try and pull that confused act with me Kermit. It doesn't work when Peter and Paul try it, and it won't work with you either," Annie scolded. "You know what I'm talking about. You knew Michael before. You were mercenaries together. Tell me about him."

Kermit tried not to fidget in his chair. "There's not much to tell. I worked with him, yes. But I didn't know him that well. I knew he was Paul's son and that was about it."

"What was he like? Did he have an attitude? Did you trust him?"

Sighing, Kermit asked a question of his own. "Why are you asking me these things, Annie? Why not just ask Paul or Mike himself?'

Annie reached across the table and found Kermit's hand. Again, no one noticed as another picture was taken of the two friends.

"I can't ask Paul because I don't trust Michael. I do trust you though. Please, tell me what you can," Annie pleaded.

"Why don't you trust him?" Kermit asked quietly.

Annie shook her head. "I can't give you a valid reason. I just don't trust the man. It's a feeling I get whenever he's around. I..."

An unpleasant voice cut her off. "Well, isn't this cozy? My father's wife having lunch with his best friend, and in a romantic restaurant at that. I hope Dad's not going to get his heart broken."

"What the hell are you doing here, Blaisdell?" Kermit hissed.

"Can't a man have lunch?" Michael asked.

In a stern voice Annie said, "Yes, he can. And that is all Kermit and I are doing, Michael."

"Riiight," drawled Michael. "Well then, I'll let you get back to your lunch. See you later, stepmother." With that he sauntered off.

"That attitude is why I don't trust him, Kermit. Tell me everything you can about him."

"You're right not to trust him. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to tell anyone about his past, but I may need your help later," Kermit said, and then cautioned her. "But you have to keep what I tell you to yourself. Not even Paul knows and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible." He then proceeded to tell her everything he knew about Michael Blaisdell, from his betrayal of his own father to having a hand in David's murder.

Before leaving the restaurant, Michael walked over to his spy. "Get more pictures. After they part company, go to the nearest one-hour photo shop. And get those pictures back to me ASAP."

"Sure, boss."

Michael left with a smile on his face. He had a new plan for driving a wedge further between dear old Dad and Griffin. 'If this doesn't do it, nothing will.'

Roger Chin tried to ignore the pain in his chest. At least he was alive. The first bullet had nicked his lung and the second one had grazed his head. He had suffered a concussion when he had hit his head on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Mary Margaret and Peter both had decided not to tell Roger about the death of his partner until they felt he was well enough to handle the news.

Chin gave his statement, including a good description of the two men that had ordered the ambush. "One of their names was Davis. The other one, I'll never forget him. Cold as ice and built like a tank. He had blond hair, blue eyes and was at least six foot three, maybe even taller."

Skalany wrote down the information as Roger gave it to her. "Do you recall a name?" She glanced at Peter, who had turned pale. She was almost certain that the man responsible for the shooting was Michael Blaisdell. He matched the description exactly. She knew it, and so did Peter.

Roger closed his eyes.

Peter put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Roger, if it is too much for you, we can come back and finish this later." Silently he said a prayer, hoping Michael wasn't the murder suspect. Not for his sake, but for Paul's.

Roger opened his eyes and in a pain-filled voice, said, "Davis called him Michael. I never heard his last name."

Peter closed his eyes as realization set in. He had hoped that Kermit had been wrong about Michael. Now, it was painfully obvious that everything Kermit said had been true. He opened his eyes to find Mary Margaret staring back at him.

Peter turned away, muttered a quick thanks, and left the hospital room.

Skalany watched him leave and planted a kiss on Roger's cheek. "You just get better and we'll be back to see you soon." She left the room in search of her partner, and found him waiting outside by her car. "You okay, partner?"

Peter ran his hand through his hair and started pacing. "Michael killed Nixon and almost killed Chin. No, I'm not okay." He stopped and looked her straight in the eyes. "Before I tell Paul any of this, I'm going to find out what Michael is doing in those warehouses," he vowed.

"We need a search warrant," Mary Margaret said, and then glanced at her watch. "I'm afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow. Everyone has gone home, and, besides, I thought Strenlich said that you were on sick leave until further notice?"

"Yeah, well…" Peter stuttered, trying to think up a good excuse. If they waited until tomorrow for a search warrant, Peter was convinced it would be too late. With Michael already on the defensive, he would bet that whatever was stored in those warehouses wouldn't be there for very long. The only problem was finding a way inside without anyone knowing.

He heaved an elaborate sigh, hoping the act would fool Mary Margaret. He didn't want his partner involved in his little scheme. If he got caught, he didn't want her implicated, and he certainly didn't want to risk her getting hurt if something went wrong.

"Skalany, could you give me a ride home?" he asked in a weary voice. For good measure, he used his patented puppy-dog face, the one that usually got him what he wanted. "I'm getting a little tired and Frank won't let me come back to work unless I follow doctor's orders."

She did as he asked without questioning him. He felt bad for the ruse, but that was the least of his concerns. Once she dropped him off, he settled back in his apartment and he waited for nightfall.

Michael's grin got bigger with every picture he saw. "Too bad you can't see these, Annie. They are priceless." He put the pictures back inside the envelope from which they had come, and placed the envelope inside his jacket pocket. He got out of his car and walked towards the Blaisdell home.

Climbing the steps, he reached the door and rung the bell. He waited a few seconds, and then heard his stepmother ask, "Who is it?"

"Annie, it's your favorite stepson. I've got something that you need to see." He started laughing at his unintentional joke. "Well, maybe see is too strong of a word. Let's just say it is a big surprise."

Annie called from behind the door, "What do you want, Michael? You and I have nothing to discuss."

"I want to drop something off for Dad. I know he'll be surprised," Michael answered, smugly. "That is, unless you have a problem with it."

The smugness disappeared when Annie surprised him by opening the door. "Just make it quick," she said, stepping back to allow him entrance into the house. "The sooner you are out of here the better it will be for both of us."

Michael walked into his father's den, dropped the envelope on the desk, and then returned to the foyer where Annie stood, holding the door open for him. "In case you're wondering, I left an envelope on Dad's desk. It contains some very suggestive pictures of you and Kermit at that little out of the way restaurant. A word of advice: don't try ripping up the pictures. I've made copies and sent them to Dad's office, along with a letter written by a concerned neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous. I almost wish I could be in his office when he opens that letter."

Annie almost laughed. "Kermit told me you were scum. Now that the real you has finally emerged, I think he was flattering you."

Angered over the insult, Michael hissed, "If you have something to say about me, come on out with it. At least Griffin has the guts to say it to my face."

"Oh, I have a lot to say to you," Annie said, smiling as she folded her arms across her chest. "First, don't even think you can threaten me. I've been threatened by the best and you don't even qualify as a rookie. Second, if you think I'm going to just stand around and let you destroy my family, you're gravely mistaken."

"Your family? This is my family, not yours! You're the outsider. I bet you couldn't wait until you got your greedy little hands on my father." He glared down at the petite blond woman, livid that she had the audacity to threaten him. "How dare you trick my father into replacing me with that second-hand piece of shit you fostered," he sneered, wanting to hurt her in the cruelest way possible. He saw her inhale and knew he had struck a nerve. "I'm Paul Blaisdell's son, his only son. And I'm going to make certain it stays that way."

Annie glared at Michael, her sightless eyes flashing in anger. "You listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch. If I hear that Peter has so much as nicked himself shaving, I will hold you personally responsible." She placed her sunglasses on her face. "And I will make sure that you regret ever threatening my son!"

Michael laughed menacingly. "Just what do think you'll do, lady? I'm bigger, stronger, and you're blind," Michael said as he circled around her.

Annie reached out her hand and slapped Michael across the face. Hard. She released the latch on her cane, which she had instinctively picked up when she heard Michael's voice at the door. 'I knew this thing would come in handy', she thought to herself as she used it to knock Michael's feet out from underneath him.

Annie smiled when she heard him land on the floor. "You really underestimated me, didn't you? Did you really think I wouldn't know self-defense? I'm married to a cop. I've picked up a few things over the years."

Michael picked himself up off the floor and brought his hand up into a fist. "Why you little bi..."

Annie heard him raising his hand and did not allow him to finish his statement. "Go ahead. Hit me. I'd like to see you try to explain that to your father."

"Who says the old man has to find out?"

"I'd tell him." She tightened her lips trying to control her anger. "And to clarify something I said earlier, if anything happens to Peter. Paul will find out about the threat you made against him."

"I'll deny it. What makes you think he would believe you over me?" Michael said, almost as a dare. "I'm his son, his flesh and blood." His eyes flashed fire, his voice full of hatred as he spoke the next sentence. "You're just his whore."

Again Annie hit him, only this time it was a right hook. "First off, you're not his son, you deceitful bastard," she said with venom in her voice. "You gave up all rights to that title when you tried to kill him." She heard him take a deep breath. "Yes, Kermit told the truth. Second, I am not Paul's whore. I am his wife. Third, I have never in all the time that I've known him lied to Paul, and he knows it. More importantly, he knows that I would never lie where Peter's safety was concerned. You may have been able to con him into trusting you over Kermit, but the same won't be true with me. And if, IF, for some reason he does..." She smiled knowing it would never happen, but she was on a roll and had no desire to stop. "Well, there are a few old buddies who haven't forgotten the role you played in that mission and who would love to pay you a surprise visit. All it takes is one simple phone call."

Stunned, Michael studied the woman carefully. "You're bluffing."

"Am I? Do you really want to call my hand?" Hearing Michael's heavy breathing, Annie took her cane and punched it into his chest. "If anything happens to my family, any of them, I'll make sure you never have a moments worth of peace. I'll have you hunted down like the animal that you are."

Michael groaned in frustration. "This isn't over, not by a long shot."

"Fine," Annie replied in a loathing voice. "But it is over for now. So get out of my house!'

"Did you forget that Dad said I was welcome here," he said, determined not to let her have the last word.

"I don't care what Paul said. He's not here. When he's not here, you are not welcome in our home. NOW GET THE HELL OUT!"

"I'll be back! We haven't settled this yet." With that, Michael stormed out of the house. He never heard Annie's comment to his last statement.

"I look forward to that battle."

Kermit sat quietly listening to Frank, Blake, Skalany, and Epstein argue over their latest plan. Hearing enough, Griffin whistled through his teeth. It was loud enough to make them cringe, but it had the desired effect – it silenced everyone. "Children, children! Now that I have your undivided attention, can we finish this up before Blaisdell walks in and asks why we're in my little cubbyhole when our shift ended three hours ago."

"The captain won't be back for another hour," Frank informed him. "The meeting with the mayor should keep him busy long enough for us to figure out how we are going to keep track of Michael Blaisdell." He glanced over towards the door. "Blake, did you plant the bug?"

Blake looked at Frank like he was an idiot.

"Sorry," Strenlich apologized. "This is a first for me. Going behind the old man's back isn't something I'm enjoying." He paced the floor once before stopping. "Kermit, you know the younger Blaisdell's habits better than the rest of us, so that makes you the perfect choice to keep track of him."

Epstein glanced around at everyone. "Wait a minute. When did Blake plant a bug on the captain's son?"

"This morning when he came in with the captain," Mary Margaret answered. She saw the confusion on his face, and explained. "Remember when Blake accidentally bumped into Michael this morning?" She waited until he nodded before she continued, "It wasn't an accident. There wasn't enough time during a simple bump to put it in a button, so Blake dropped it in one of his pockets. It's a very small device, and with any luck Michael won't even notice it."

Blake sighed. "It was too bad he rode in with the captain or I would have planted one inside that fancy car of his."

"Nice of you to tell me," Epstein stated. The brown paper bag sitting on Kermit's desk caught his attention. He reached inside and pulled out a gummy bear. He tossed it into his mouth, took one bite, and then spit it out into the trash can. "These things taste like twenty year old jello."

Kermit chuckled, "That's what you get for taking one without asking."

"What about Peter?" Skalany asked, changing the topic of conversation. "We couldn't get a search warrant in time, and since it's no secret how impatient he is I've got a bad feeling that he's going to try to break into that office across the street tonight."

Frank folded his arms. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that."

Epstein cleared his throat as he got up. "I'll make sure he stays out of trouble."

Skalany couldn't refuse one last jab. "And who is going to keep you out of trouble?"

Dressed in orderly uniforms, three men walked the corridor of the hospital. One stopped at the nurses' station and found the room number they were searching for. They turned around a corner and found three policemen standing guard by the door they wanted to enter. "Bad idea," one said. "We better get out of here."

Entering the elevator, they pushed the ground floor button and silently waited until doors opened. They left the hospital and climbed into their car. One picked up the car phone and dialed a number. "It's me. The place is crawling with cops. There's no way we can make the hit. The deal is off." He disconnected the line before the party on the other end could comment. "Let's get out of this town. The further we are away from those two nut balls, the safer we'll be."

Dropping the phone into its cradle, Robert Davis looked over at his partner. "They chickened out."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter. They were going to be a loose end once they killed Chin anyway."

Davis leaned closer. "And now?"

Michael shrugged. "They should be headed towards their private plane by now. In less than twenty minutes our friends should be in the air."

Robert angrily raised his hands. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

The other man grinned. "As soon as they reach three thousand feet..." He smacked his hands together. "BOOM!"

Both men started laughed uproariously. Once they settled down, Michael pulled out his gun and checked its ammunition. "It's time we really have some fun. I've got a few family members that need to be taught a lesson." He pointed the weapon and pretended to fire. "A painful lesson that they will never forget," he said, and started laughing again.

Paul walked into the precinct and headed straight for his office. Usually he didn't work late into the evening hours, but the meeting with the mayor had gone longer than expected and he wanted to complete some paper work before he called it a night.

He glanced to his right and noticed Kermit's door was closed. It seemed he wasn't the only one working late tonight. Funny, he hadn't realized Kermit had come in today. It shouldn't have been a surprise though, Kermit was usually like clockwork.

He turned his eyes away from the closed door; saddened over their strained relationship. Since early this morning they had avoided each other like the plague, which had only caused the rift between them to widen.

Paul wanted to hear Kermit's version of the truth, but pride and anger kept him from going into the small office. If there was to be a reconciliation, Kermit would have to make the first move. After all, he was the one who had lied and betrayed their friendship.

Blaisdell walked into his own office, shut the door behind him, and made his way to his desk. He picked up the mail that Frank had delivered, and started going through it. A large yellow envelope without a return address stared back at him. Curious, he opened it.

Kermit waited impatiently for the last page of the report Frank wanted to finish printing so he could put an end to this miserable day.

Someone knocked on his door. "It's open," he called out, and then turned his chair around to face his visitor. His breath caught in his throat when the door opened and Blaisdell entered.

For several seconds the two men just stared at each other, then Paul closed the door and walked over to Kermit's desk. The older man reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a long yellow envelope and tossed it down on the computer desk before taking a seat across from Kermit curious stare. Blaisdell said nothing, and his face was without expression.

Griffin lowered his eyes, unable to decipher Blaisdell's mood. With Michael back in the picture, he didn't know what to expect from Paul these days. Deciding it was best to get things over with, Kermit opened the envelope and reached inside. He felt the first of several pictures and pulled it out.

One quick glance at the photograph told him everything he wanted to know. He angrily put the picture back inside the envelope and shoved it towards Paul.

"I suppose I'm having an affair with Annie now."

What happened next actually surprised the computer expert.

Blaisdell reached over, picked up the envelope, and then threw it into the trashcan. With a deep sigh, he said, "It's all right, you can go ahead and say it."

"There's nothing to say, Paul."

The captain slowly stood up and walked to the furthest corner of the office. "He's my son, Kermit. When I found out that you knew he was alive and deliberately kept that a secret from me, it hurt. I felt betrayed by the one person I trusted more than anyone else. Then the incident with Peter, the bruises around his neck." Sighing heavily, Paul turned back around. "My God, Kermit. What was I suppose to think?"

Kermit stared back at him but said nothing. He refused to grant the man forgiveness, at least not just yet. Paul wasn't the only one who felt betrayed.

Silence lingered in the office for several minutes before Paul returned to his chair. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"If I had been in your shoes Paul, I would have reacted the same way," he said finally.

"I doubt you would have made a complete ass out of yourself," Paul said. "You know me, Kermit. I'm not an amateur. How could I have been so blind?"

"You said it yourself, Paul. Michael's your son. Family has a way of blinding you to the truth," Kermit answered somberly, as he recalled the single, most painful incident in his life. "I refused to believe what I was hearing about David until it was almost too late. I couldn't believe my little brother was doing drugs, but unfortunately, it was true."

"At least you have the satisfaction of knowing David turned his life around and made you proud, Kermit. I wish I could say the same about Michael, but we both know it would be a lie."

Silence descended on the room once again.

Kermit drummed his fingers on top of his desk, wondering if he should tell Paul everything he knew about Michael. He knew Blaisdell had to be told the truth, but how to do it was another story. He stared at the handles on the filing cabinet for a long time before he finally spoke, "Paul, there's…"

"Why did you keep the truth about Michael from me?" Blaisdell interrupted, asking the one question Kermit had dreaded for almost twenty years.

Since Paul was leaving him no other choice, Kermit figured there was no time like the present to put all the cards on the table. He looked at Blaisdell and issued a warning. "This isn't going to be easy for you Paul. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I want to know the truth, Kermit," Paul replied. "And don't leave anything out."

Kermit took a deep breath. He had rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind, but it still didn't make it any easier to say. He lifted his head, pulled off his glasses, and stared straight at Blaisdell as he told his friend every last detail.

The fireplace roared with a crackling fire, and the two women inside the cozy room were enjoying the warmth it was providing. Still upset over the earlier incident with Michael, Annie decided to confide in her oldest daughter.

Since the beginning of her marriage to Paul, Annie considered Carolyn and Kelly her daughters, not her stepdaughters, and she knew the girls felt the same way about her. Though Carolyn never called her mom like Peter and Kelly, it never cheapened their relationship.

"Michael hired someone to take pictures of me and Kermit having lunch at Aubrey's," Annie began.

"Why would he do that?" Carolyn asked before she could explain any further.

"He wants Paul to believe we're having an affair. It took everything I had to keep from laughing in his face. I think he was surprised when I didn't attempt to stop him from leaving the pictures in your father's den."

"Do you want me to throw them away?" Carolyn offered.

"No. I have nothing to hide. Let Paul see them and then he can decide what he believes," she answered. She chose not to tell Carolyn about Michael's threats, but once Paul got home she planned to tell him everything.

"It seems Kelly's instincts were right from the start," Carolyn said and dropped down onto the sofa. The old couch squeaked as it normally did when someone sat on it. "I don't understand why Michael would do something like this. We had lunch yesterday and he seemed so happy that he had a family. Why would he turn on us?"

"Lunch? When did you have lunch with Michael?" Annie asked, suddenly feeling unnerved. Usually Carolyn told her everything. "What did you two talk about?"

"We accidentally bumped into each other at the bank, and he offered to take me to lunch. Now that I know how devious he is, maybe it wasn't so accidental after all," Carolyn admitted. "He asked a lot of questions that sounded normal for someone who had been away from their family for so long. He wanted to know how you met Dad and how long you two have been married. Then he started asking questions about Peter and how we felt about the two of you eing part of the family."

"What did you tell him?" Annie demanded. Michael's threat still lingered in the back of her mind.

"What are you not telling me?" Carolyn asked, growing concerned over the tone in Annie's voice. "Did Michael threaten you?"

The sound of a car horn blowing stopped their conversation. It was Paul. He always blew the horn to announce his arrival if he got home after dark. Annie reached up and touched Carolyn's arm. "Your father's home. Let me talk to him about Michael."

"All right, but I'm not leaving you alone until Michael's dealt with," Carolyn promised.

Annie appreciated the offer more than she wanted to admit. She went to the front door and greeted her husband. "We held dinner for you," she told him once he released her from a long embrace.

"It's after ten and I'm not really hungry, Annie," Paul said, his voice sounding tired. He placed a kiss on her forehead. "I've got to make a few phone calls. If you need me, I'll be in the den." He started down the hall but stopped suddenly. "Annie, I want you to keep the doors locked at all times. I…"

"Paul, we need to talk," Annie interrupted, recognizing the worry in his voice. She knew Michael was responsible for his apprehension, and she wanted to settle the matter once and for all. "It's about Michael. I know he's your son, but there are some things you need to know about him."

"I know all I need to know," her husband said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kermit told me everything."

Sliding her hand up Paul's shoulder, Annie touched his face. She could feel the tension laced inside his features. Her heart broke. "Oh Paul, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could say to ease your pain. I know how much you love Michael. Just remember that whatever he has become, it isn't your fault."

"He was hired to kill me, Annie. Can you imagine my own son selling me out for half a million dollars?" Paul reached up and took his wife's hand, holding it a moment before he kissed it. "I just need to be alone right now," he said, kissing her hand again. "I'll be all right. I promise." He then went into his den and closed the door behind him.

Convincing Mary Margaret to drop him off at his apartment had been the easiest part of his plan. Finding his car keys next to a nasty letter written by Epstein had been an added bonus, but when he walked into the suite on the third floor of the office building across the street from the precinct, Peter thought his luck had run out.

He glanced up, spotted a small red light above the darken hallway, and realized it was a surveillance camera. As quick as a cat, Peter managed to shut the door and escape the camera's lens before it scanned the area he just evacuated.

He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a flashlight, and walked down the hallway. Two large doors on opposite sides greeted him at the end of the hallway. The door on his right was locked, but it was not an obstacle for his curiosity. He easily picked the lock and walked inside to search the room.

Finding nothing, Peter turned his attention to the computer that rested on the smaller desk against the wall. He pulled out the chair, sat down, and booted up the computer. Within a minute, he was searching the computer's hard drive and discovered several files that were encoded.

Feeling like a kid in a candy store, Peter broke each code, grateful that Kermit had given him a crash course on computer hacking. It had been their little secret that had paid off on more than one occasion.

Fifteen minutes passed before he found the information he wanted. Detailed records listed bank accounts, clients and items that had to be sold on the black-market.

Remembering the blank disk he had brought with him, Peter pulled it out and copied the information he had uncovered. One day he would have to thank Kermit for teaching him the tricks of the trade.

He retrieved the disk and placed it inside a protective cover before shoving it into his jean pocket. As he shut down the computer, he realized the irony of his success. On one hand, he now had the evidence he needed to implicate Michael; on the other, revealing it would hurt someone he loved very much. He ran his hand over his mouth, wondering how he could tell Paul that his son was dealing in illegal arms.

Peter knew he was sitting on a powder keg and he would burn that bridge when he came to it, but first things first. He got up, returned the seat to its original position, and gave the office another glance, making certain everything was exactly as he found it before he left the room.

He didn't notice the hidden camera that had recorded everything he had done.

Watching the monitor while he dialed a phone number, Robert Davis waited until the voice on the other end answered before he spoke. "Michael, sorry for the late call but we've got an unwelcome visitor snooping around in our office. It seems he is interested in what we have stored in our computer files."

"Robert, I just placed our contact on hold because you called to tell me that we have a thief? Just kill him and dump the body!" Michael shouted. "I thought you could handle these little nuisances. If not, just tell me and I will hire someone who can."

Robert laughed, ignoring Michael's threat. He knew it was nothing more than empty words spoken in anger. He could hold his own against any man, Michael Blaisdell included. "Mike, this intruder is more than just a common thief. He's a certain police officer that you know very well and I don't mean your father or Griffin."

"No. It can't be this easy. Peter? It's really Peter?" Michael's sinister laugh echoed over the phone line. "I'm on my way. I should be there in about ten minutes. Do not, I repeat, do not interrupt our little thief. We don't want him to think he's being watched, do we?"

Walking into the darkened hallway, Peter started towards the exit but a burly figure stepped out of a maintenance closet and deliberately collided with him.

Caught off guard, Peter prepared himself for the fight of his life. As the figure moved, Peter instantly recognized the silhouette. Only one man with a shape like that could move so fast. "Eppy," he asked in an angry whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I think I should be the one asking that question, kid. I'm not the one who's breaking and entering." The big detective turned around, huffed, and then added, "Well, I guess I am but that isn't the point right now, is it?"

"No, the point is that you're following me," Peter growled.

Enough light from the emergency lights illuminated the scowl that swept across Epstein's face. "You want to tell me what's going on here?"

Peter cringed under that patented Eppy grimace. During the four years they were partners, he had been unable to keep anything from Epstein, especially anything personal. If his partner even suspected he was keeping something from him, Eppy would take great pleasure in interrogating him until he finally confessed.

"Come on kid, spill the beans. It will make you feel better."

"Not this time, Eppy."

"That bad, huh? It'll make you feel better to talk to somebody and it might as well be me. Besides, you know I'm going to hassle you until you squeal like a pig."

Peter leaned against the nearest wall and closed his eyes. He knew Eppy was right, and sharing the information he had discovered about his foster brother might give him some idea how to break the news to Paul. God knows he needed all the advice he could get when he spoke to him. "I've just uncovered one of the largest black market rings in the country, and Michael's the ring leader."

"Michael?" Epstein asked, his voice trailing off. The detective lifted his head. "You mean Blaisdell's son?"

Peter nodded.

"I knew my intuition was right about that smart ass," Epstein muttered. "I hope you have some kind of proof we can show Strenlich…"

"I made a copy of their clientele, payments, and inventory," Peter said, and started walking back towards the office. "Come with me and see for yourself."

The two men entered the room and Peter pulled out the chair, sat down, and booted up the computer.

Minutes later, standing behind Peter, Epstein stared down at the computer monitor, shaking his head in disbelief. "There's enough fire power from this shipment alone to supply a small army."

"Look who's paying for this shipment," Peter urged, clicking the mouse twice and then scrolling down to reveal the information. "If this doesn't scare you, nothing will."

"Holy Shit! He's planning to sell those weapons to the local gangs in Chinatown!" Epstein exclaimed. "If that happens, it will be open season on every precinct throughout the city. There's no way we can match that kind of firepower. We better get out of here and get word to the captain."

"You want to be the one to tell him who's behind it?" Peter asked. He leaned back in the swivel chair and ran his hand through his hair. "We can't tell Paul about this." He considered their options for a moment, and a plan suddenly came to mind. He was sure Epstein would go along with it. "Eppy, you and I can stop that cargo ship from being unloaded. It will be like the good old days."

"I remember those days and believe me there was nothing good about some of them," Epstein huffed, and then patted the younger man across the back. "Come on, let's get out of here."

While he was reading the ship's destination and arrival time, Peter started grinning. Why didn't he think of this sooner? If Michael commanded and ran his underground empire from this computer, then he could disrupt a few things from the same computer. He started typing, switching the ship's destination from Chinatown to New York City. "Michael and his buddies are going to be in for a surprise tomorrow."

Epstein leaned over Peter's shoulder to look the screen. "What are you doing?"

Touching the monitor with his finger, Peter continued to type. "Oh, let's just say that ship just received new orders to dock at another location." He glanced up at Epstein and laughed. "It must have been a communication problem."

"Since when did you become so devious?"

"I had a good teacher," Peter admitted, watching as the older man grinned with obvious pride. He shut down the computer and led them out of the office. "Stay close to the walls. The cameras aren't scanning them," he said with a nervous laugh, "at least I don't think they are scanning them."

"Rule number thirty-one: never break into a security building without a plan and you kid..." Epstein's voice trailed off. When Peter turned around to investigate, the older detective grabbed him and threw him to the floor.

"What th…" a hand covered his mouth, cutting off his protest.

"I think we're interrupting a robbery," Epstein whispered in his ear, and pointed a finger at the darkened hallway. Two masked men closed the door, holding their weapons to their side. "Sshhh…I don't think they saw us."

"Think again," one of the men replied, pointing his weapon at the two. "Stand up, nice and slow."

Peter slowly climbed to his feet, studying the two men and their attire. Both were completely dressed in black, including their ski masks. They reminded him of two cartoon characters. "Eppy, we've been captured by Heckle and Jeckle. You know we'll never live this down."

One of the mask men raised his rifle in the air; preparing to hit the young man in the face with the butt of his weapon. A loud, threatening voice stopped the possible attack.

"Art, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The man named Art lowered his weapon and backed away, but never took his eyes off Peter.

The new man approached the group, taking his time before he stopped in front of the two police officers. With a glare at Peter, he said, "Michael's very upset with you. He's simply irate that his brother would spy on him." The man clasped his hands together. "And since we have time on our hands, let's you and I discuss how we can get back on Michael's good side."

"Good side? You mean he has one?" Peter glanced over at Epstein and laughed. "Hey Eppy, Michael's got a good side. Let's all go out to dinner and celebrate."

"You think he deserves a Happy Meal?" Epstein asked sarcastically.

"Naw, I was thinking more along the lines of a Milk Bone."

"I've had it with the Abbott and Costello comic routine," the man snapped, and then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Epstein. "Another word out of either of you two, and Michelin Man gets it."

"Michelin Man!" Epstein shouted, obviously insulted. With a balled hand, the detective shook it at the leader. "Why don't you drop the gun, Rambo and we'll see what kind of a tough guy you really are."

"Forget it Eppy." Peter shot the man a dirty look. "Gumby's not worth the trouble."

"I said shut up. If you..." the man stopped suddenly, as the sound of a door opening caught everyone's attention.

Michael Blaisdell emerged from a hidden door. Words weren't wasted on greetings; instead, the blond man's attention settled on Peter. "Did you really think I would let you get away, especially after what you've just uncovered?"

"So much for outsmarting surveillance cameras," Epstein muttered to his partner. "I guess you weren't paying attention to me after all."

"He wasn't paying attention to the old man either," Michael added with a sneer. He held out his hand. "I want your gun, Peter, and just to make sure there's no accident, give it to me handle first."

"Don't you do it, kid," Epstein warned.

"Shut up cop!" one of the masked men ordered, raising his weapon at the officer.

Peter considered pulling his gun and taking his chances, but with three men holding their weapons on Epstein, the odds were against him. He carefully weighed his options, and quickly realized surrendering his gun would also sign his and Epstein's death warrant. His decision made, he glared up at Michael and said, "You'll have to kill me first before you take my gun."

"I don't think so, Petey." Michael seemed unfazed by the defiance, almost as if he expected it. The taller man reached out and grabbed Peter's jaw and viciously squeezed it. "Give me the gun or I'll have one of my friends blow a hole through your buddy over there. Your choice."

"Don't do it, kid." Epstein repeated.

"Shut him up," Michael snapped at one of his men. Art moved forward, balled his hand into a fist, and punched Epstein in the stomach. The detective crumbled down to his knees. With a victorious laugh, Michael turned his attention back to Peter. "Now give me the gun. I won't ask you again."

Epstein grunted in pain. "Tomato can, don't do it."

"If it's one thing I can't stand, it's people who don't know when to shut up." Michael rolled his eyes and sighed. "The first one to fill his body with five bullet holes gets twenty-five thousand dollars."

The two men raised their weapons.

"All right, you win!" Peter shouted, stopping the assassination. He pulled out his Beretta, flipped it in the air, and caught it behind his back before surrendering it to Michael. "Just call off your dogs."

Michael snapped his fingers, and the two men lowered their weapons. Peter gave a sigh of relief as Michael backed away to study the weapon. With a chuckled, he added, "You really disappointed me, brat. I expected a better fight out of you. I guess you're not the great cop dad believes you are, are you?"

If ever there was a time to teach this bozo a lesson it was now.

Peter kicked the weapon out of Michael's hand, spun around on his heel, and caught one of the masked men in his unprotected stomach. He tried to follow the move with a roundhouse kick but someone yanked him from behind and forced him down to his knees.

He was kicked viciously in the lower back, knocking the breath out of his lungs. As he fought to catch his breath, a hand twisted in his hair and unmercifully pulled him back up to his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter noticed Epstein, who glared daggers at their adversaries. A well-placed gun to the head kept Epstein from offering assistance.

Michael picked up the weapon, and casually walked in front of Peter. Using the barrel of the gun, he caressed the side of Peter's face. "That was a very stupid move, Peter, and I'm afraid it's going to cost you."

Peter tensed, expecting to be killed.

"Wait, this won't be any fun," Michael said. He turned and aimed the gun at Epstein. "But this will be," he declared, and then fired the weapon before tossing it to the floor.

Stunned by what had just happened, Peter watched helplessly as Epstein collapsed to the floor and blood started seeping through his shirt. Blinking back tears, he managed to find his voice. "You Bastard! You didn't have to kill him."

"Consider yourself blessed that it wasn't you," Michael stated coldly and then signaled someone by a quick jerk of the head.

Before Peter could move, a huge arm pinned him across the chest and a handkerchief was placed over his mouth. A weird odor came from the cloth, causing him to feel queasy. He realized it was chloroform. Trying not to inhale, he frantically tried to fight back, but as the seconds ticked away, his lungs screamed for air.

"You can't hold your breath forever, kid," Michael taunted. Laughter filled the suite, echoing off the walls as shapes became blurred and voices seemed to blend together.

The large arm wrapped around his chest squeezed harder, forcing Peter to finally inhale.

In a last ditch attempt at freedom, Peter used the last of his strength and swung blindly. His fingers grazed across a fire alarm switch. Reaching up with sheer will, he pulled it. The alarm went off instantly, and the sprinkler system came on drenching everyone, giving Peter a brief moment of victory. The last thing he heard was Michael cursing him before everything went dark.

Pain was the first thing Epstein felt when he opened his eyes. Through the haze he spotted three shapes looming over him. Not sure if they were friend or foe, he narrowed his eyes into slits, moaned, and then pretended to drift in and out of consciousness.

As his vision cleared, the three shapes turned into paramedics. One talked into a walkie-talkie, another tried talking to him, and the other reached down and attempted to put an oxygen mask over his face.

Frustrated and embarrassed because he had committed a stupid rookie mistake by allowing that jerk Michael Blaisdell to get the best of him, Epstein took out his anger on the oxygen mask by slapping it away.

The paramedic tried again but the patient refused to cooperate. "Sir, we need to transport you to the hospital," the frustrated man said with a sigh. "You've been shot."

"No kidding, Einstein. What was your first clue?" Epstein asked, glaring at the paramedic. He couldn't believe his ears. The stupidest statement ever uttered from one single human being had just been spoken by a so-called professional. Any idiot with a brain could tell he had been shot. Was eating pizza the only requirement kids needed these days for getting a diploma? The standard of education must have dropped multi digit IQ points since he was in college.

In a huff, Epstein slowly climbed to his feet, determined to find his missing partner. Peter was most likely in trouble, which was nothing unusual. But this time, it had been him, not the kid, who had screwed up. If he didn't do something quickly to correct that mistake, he was convinced that Peter would die.

He took a step, and suddenly became dizzy. Two paramedics grabbed him by his arms, careful of his injured shoulder. Epstein fought to keep conscious but he knew it was a losing battle. He had to tell them about Peter before it was too late.

He turned to one of the paramedics. "Who's in ..ge?" he asked, breathing heavy. Everything turned dark. "My part…ner's…"

Epstein collapsed before he could tell anyone what had happened.

As the vehicle pulled onto an isolated road, Michael took the time to enjoy the last half-mile of the trip. The house he had just bought had come with many extras, including a secluded landing strip equipped with runway lights. It was located several hundred yards behind the house and was perfect for those special shipments that needed to escape the prying eyes of the law.

Michael glanced over his shoulder, smiling at the unconscious form sprawled across the back seat. Everything was perfect. He had killed another cop, which combined with the murder of James Nixon, would hopefully convince the police that there was a cop killer on the loose. And by tomorrow, he would be rich beyond his wildest dreams. What more could he ask for?

After the vehicle stopped, Michael pulled Peter out of the back seat and carried him down to the basement. He tossed the unconscious young man down onto an old, dirty couch and then tied his hands behind his back.

"Let's see what you've got that I could use," he said with amusement. Michael started searching through the younger man's pockets. In a matter of seconds, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a set of keys, which caught his attention. He jingled the keys. "Petey, I'm willing to bet one of these unlocks the front door to Dad's warm and cozy home. Thanks for letting me borrow them."

"I just hired three more men," Robert announced from the top of the basement steps. "How many of them do you need to go with you?"

Michael glanced at his watch. It was 1:30 in the morning- still too early for what he had planned. He double-checked Peter, making sure his foster brother was still unconscious. The last thing he needed was another distraction. Satisfied, he then climbed up the stairs.

"What about him?" Robert asked, motioning with a nod of his head towards Peter. "I can do him now and save you the trouble later."

"No, I've got something special planned for little brother later, but first things first." He opened the basement door, and stood inside the doorway. "Dad leaves for work every morning between 7:20 and 7:30. After that, my dear lovable stepmother and my sisters are alone in the house. Since Peter was gracious enough to loan me his keys, and if a few of the boys are by my side, gaining access to the house shouldn't be a problem." Michael placed his hand over his mouth and yawned. "I'm going to catch a few hours of sleep. Post a couple of guards at this door, and order them to keep tabs on little brother. I don't want him to wake up until I'm ready for him."

"I've got ways of doing that." Robert grinned sadistically and then glanced down at his intended target. "Come on, Mike. Let me have some fun with him."

Michael looked down at the couch and laughed. "Your own personal punching bag?"

"Look at it this way; you won't have to buy me anything for Christmas."

Michael pointed a finger at him. "Just a friendly warning, Robert. If you kill him you'll ruin my day, and we both know what happens to those who do that, don't we?"

"Warning received and acknowledged," Robert replied.

"Glad we understand one another," Michael said before showing the handcuffs to Davis. "These are going to come in handy when I get my hands on that blind witch," he snickered. "I can't wait to see the look on Petey's face when he sees what I'm going to do to his mother."

Strenlich furiously paced the bullpen. He was worried, but he wasn't about to admit it to anyone. Not just yet anyway.

He glanced at his watch, the third time in as many minutes. It was 8:30. Peter and Epstein were already an hour late reporting in for their shift, and neither one had called to offer an explanation. That alone worried him more than anything.

"Maybe Kermit knows something," he muttered, then walked over to Griffin's closed door, and knocked.

"What do you want?" Kermit asked in an unpleasant tone.

Great, just what he needed. Two missing detectives, and now he had to add a cranky ex-mercenary in with the mix. Why didn't someone just throw a stick of dynamite at him? The results would be the same. He opened the door, stepped inside, and asked just as testily, "Kermit, have you heard from Peter or Epstein?"

"Have you tried Lost and Found?" the computer expert asked.

"If you don't know, then just say so," Frank shouted and then slammed the door behind him. He turned his attention towards the bullpen, waiting for the first person to look up so he could give them a six months' supply of paper work. When nobody took the bait, he angrily moved to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. He nearly gagged after tasting the brew. No doubt Blake had made the poison.

Peter moaned and opened his eyes to a bad headache. Disorientated, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited until the waves of nausea passed. When he opened his eyes again, flashbacks of what had happened earlier hit him like a bucket of cold water in the face. Eppy.

He tried to move, but discovered he was unable to free his hands. "What the…?" he grunted, his frustration growing at the inability to at free himself. "Damn it," he hissed in anger.

Defeated, he collapsed back onto the couch and tried to think of another method of escape. A ray of light hit him in the eyes, and he slowly lifted his head in search of its source. A small window that looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since the Village People last had a hit record adorned the wall.

Time to find out exactly where he was. He managed to get up on his knees and glanced around at his surroundings. The huge cloth couch he was on was very old, but miraculously comfortable.

He slowly climbed to his feet and found several wooden crates discarded among old boxes and broken furniture. Using his foot, he pushed one of the crates across the basement floor until it reached the wall. A spider scampered out of his way after the crate destroyed the web it had been building.

Peter stepped on top of the crate and looked outside the window. The only thing he saw was tall grass and dying weeds. No sign of houses, roads, or cars that could give him some idea of where he had been taken.

"Awake already?" Michael asked from the top of the basement steps.

Startled, Peter nearly lost his balance but managed to recover before he fell. He stepped down and waited, preparing himself for whatever Michael had planned.

Michael glanced around the dingy basement and smiled. "Sorry it's not the Hilton, but why spend that much money when you're not going to be here long, right?"

"What, no continental breakfast?" Peter asked sarcastically. "After all I've heard about your hospitality, Michael, I was at least expecting a lousy cup of coffee."

"I thought we would celebrate instead," Michael said, ignoring the sarcasm. He held up a bottle of wine, showed it to Peter, and then placed it carefully on a broken table. "It's a vintage bottle of wine, Petey. Something special for this extraordinary occasion."

"Celebrating your arrest, Mikey?" Peter taunted.

Michael reached down, grabbed two crates, and set them down in front of the table. From out of his pocket, he pulled out a corkscrew and used it to open the bottle of wine. "You'll have to forgive me, but I didn't have time to grab a couple of goblets. I guess we'll have to drink straight out of the bottle."

Peter stood his ground, refusing to accept the invitation.

The older man glanced at the younger, took a swig from the bottle, and then groaned. "Pete, don't make me angry. I asked you nicely to join me. If you decline my offer, then I'm afraid I'll have to get a few of my boys to drag you over here."

He reluctantly obeyed, knowing Michael's threat wasn't a bluff. With his hands tied behind his back, Peter knew he couldn't defend himself against Michael's cronies. He slowly dropped down onto the empty crate. "Why don't you drop the charade, Michael, and get on with what you have planned for me?"

"In due time," Michael promised, laughing before taking another long swig from the bottle. "I thought we would spend a little time talking about your father."

"Which one?" Peter asked deliberately, holding back his amusement when the other man became irate.

"Which one?" Michael repeated, glaring at the younger man. He slammed the bottle on the table, spraying both men with droplets of wine. "You only have one father, kid, or didn't you learn that in biology?"

Peter narrowed his eyes and refused to answer. He had no idea where Michael was going with this topic of conversation, and he wasn't about to give his foster brother any ammunition to use against him.

"You must be some sort of a freak, Pete," Michael continued, undaunted. "From what I've been told, out of all those priests that survived your temple's destruction, not one of those sheet-wearing kooks wanted you. Why was that, Petey? Are you sure your old man didn't burn the place down himself just to have an excuse to disappear?"

Peter bit down on his lip so hard he could taste blood, but still refused to speak. If only his hands were free, then he was sure Michael would be speaking out of the other side of his face.

"Come on, admit it. Your old man didn't want you. What is it going to take to convince you of the truth?" Michael leaned across the table, tilted his head, and stared hard at Peter. "Even a dumb ass would eventually wake up and smell the coffee, especially after their long-lost father pulled yet another disappearing act. I guess you're kinda slow though, aren't you?"

"Shut up! You don't know anything about my father or what he does!" Peter shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer. Michael didn't deserve to breathe the same air as his father, much less judge him. "What right do you have to…"

"What right did you have to take my family from me?" Michael hissed. The blue eyes narrowed, piercing Peter with enough hatred that it made him shiver. "Yesterday, I took my sister to lunch at one of the more fancy restaurants in town so we could get reacquainted. I didn't want to deal with certain people who think they belong in my family. But, as usual, the conversation centered around you."

"Can I help it if I'm a popular guy?" Peter asked. Since he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be alive, he thought he'd enjoy annoying Michael while he could.

"Do you know how sick I am of hearing Peter this and Peter that?" Michael sneered. "Well let's get something straight right now, my pretend brother. Paul Blaisdell isn't your father. Kelly and Carolyn aren't your sisters. You're nothing more than a homeless puppy they took in because they pitied you."

No matter how hard he tried, Peter couldn't help but laugh. It all made sense now. The entire conversation had been a ploy. Michael wanted to ridicule him in order to hide his own jealousy and insecurity. That had to mean his little charade had been uncovered, and Paul had found out the truth. That explained why Michael had been desperate enough to abduct him.

"Paul must have found out what a loser you are. What happened? Did he take away some privileges? No video games for a week? No dessert? No allowance for a month?" Peter laughed harder. "Tell you what, wash Paul's car and he'll let you off with good behavior. It always worked with me."

Michael slapped him hard across the face. "You're the loser, punk, and you're about to find out exactly how much you're going to lose." Reaching inside his jacket, Michael pulled out Peter's set of keys and shook them in front of the younger man's face. "Care to tell me which one of these opens the family's front door? If you tell me, it would save me so much time."

Peter's eyes widened in fear as the true horror of Michael's threat sunk in. Since he no longer considered the Blaisdells necessary, Michael was going to eliminate them. In frantic desperation, Peter kicked out and struck Michael's unprotected groin with all the strength he could muster.

The tall blond man screamed, then fell to his knees before collapsing onto the concrete floor. Michael rolled around, moaning in pain.

Seizing the opportunity, Peter rushed up the steps towards the closed door.

The door opened and the same man he had seen in the office suite earlier appeared, pointing a gun at him. "Any last requests?"

"Robert, no!" Michael shouted, grunting in pain as he struggled to get to his feet. "Drag his ass back down here. Break his neck for all I care, just don't kill him… yet."

Michael's associate forced Peter back down the stairs, harshly jerking on the ropes as he complied with Michael's command. As soon as Peter's booted foot touched the basement floor, he was thrown back onto the old couch.

Rolling over, Peter managed to sit upright before the two men approached.

Trying to recover from the low blow, Michael glared at Peter for several long seconds before he finally spoke. "I hope you enjoyed your little victory because it's going to cost you your mother's life."

"You bastard!" Peter tried standing but Robert shoved him back down. "What's the matter, Michael? Aren't you man enough to fight someone who can fight back? What kind of lowlife attacks a blind woman?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know, but it's going to be fun finding out. Worrying about the blind bimbo is the least of your problems right now." Climbing the steps, he turned back to his partner. "Remember our deal, Robert. As long as he's breathing, I don't care what you do to him."

The door closed behind Michael, and Peter turned his attention to Robert, who pulled out a pair of brass knuckles.

"Don't try to move too much, Peter," Robert warned, slipping the brass knuckles over his fingers. "It's more fun to hit a sitting duck."

Michael decreased his speed as he turned the car onto the street where the Blaisdells lived. He was thankful he had gotten another car because he didn't want to take a chance that Annie would recognize the sound of the engine.

He pulled the car into the driveway and turned to the two men sitting in the back seat. "Make sure the first thing you do is cut the telephone lines. Wait until I park the car in the front yard before you enter through the doors off the deck. My stepmother's blind, but she has excellent hearing. Once she realizes it's me, she's going to run to the phone. I don't want anybody coming to the rescue."

Blaisdell pulled his glasses off and ran a tired hand over his face. He and Annie had stayed up most of the night talking about Michael. He felt like an idiot for not seeing his son for the cold-hearted person he really was. If it took him the rest of his life, he would make it up to Kermit and Annie for the hell Michael had put them through.

The phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Blaisdell," he said, after picking up the receiver.

"Paul, it's me," Bill O'Brien, captain of the 89th precinct, replied from the other end of the line. "I just got a call from St. Mary's Hospital. Epstein's there, unconscious, with a bullet wound in the shoulder. They called here after they went through his clothes and found his badge and wallet."

"What happened?" Paul asked, concern lacing his voice. He silently prayed Epstein had been the unfortunate victim of a robbery, not another target of the man the media had tagged 'Cop Killer'. "Was he found at home?"

"No, from what I was told, the fire department was answering a call and found him instead. Thank God he had enough fortitude to pull the fire alarm before he passed out or we might have ourselves another dead cop."

"Any word on his condition?" Paul asked, expecting the worst.

"Unconscious, but stable. The good news is that he's going to pull through." O'Brien sighed heavily. "Paul, if they were able to get the drop on Epstein…"

"We're going to get the bastards, Bill. Mark my words," Blaisdell vowed. "Where did they find Epstein?"

After being told the location, Paul ended the conversation and hung up the phone, wondering how Epstein could have been attacked in an office suite. Was it possible the detective had been on stakeout and gotten ambushed? He quickly dismissed that idea because Peter had been teamed with Epstein, and his son hadn't been found with the injured officer.

Still, something made him uneasy. Epstein wasn't a rookie; the veteran officer wouldn't have made the stupid mistake of investigating a place after hours, especially without backup. Peter, yes, but not Epstein.

According to Skalany, Peter was home, so for once he didn't have to worry about his son's safety. That knowledge didn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong – terribly wrong.

He opened his office door and spotted Strenlich. "Frank, can you come in here for a minute?"

"What is it, Captain?" Frank asked, carrying a bunch of folders under his arm.

"I just got a call from the 89th. Epstein's been shot and is in the hospital."

"What?" Strenlich gasped, and then with a worried expression, asked, "When did it happen? And where?"

"Where? The building across the street," Paul replied, his suspicions immediately aroused. He was certain Frank knew more about this than he was letting on. "A better question would be, what was Epstein doing there? And why was he there after midnight? You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No," Frank admitted, and then motioned for Blaisdell to go back inside the office. Once inside, Strenlich closed the door and took a seat before he tossed the folders on the large desk. "Captain, I know it's only a gut instinct, but I've got a bad feeling that this is only going to get worse. Nobody has heard anything from Peter and…"

"I thought you told me he was off duty until…"

"You know Peter," Frank said, and then sighed deeply. "Epstein left late yesterday, claiming he was going to keep an eye on Peter. The kid had made a remark to Skalany about doing some investigating. According to Skalany, he wanted to check out one of the office suites located across the street."

That uneasy feeling that had been dogging Paul returned, and this time it felt like a wrecking ball hitting him in the stomach. He rushed to the phone and dialed his son's apartment. After getting the answering machine, he slammed the phone down in its cradle. "Frank, have Kermit run a search on those suites. I want the names of everyone who owns one."

"Kermit did that a few days ago. It seems a Robert Davis owns the entire building. According to Kermit, the man has only existed a few months. He has no credit history, no social security number, no nothing. It's very suspicious and…"

"And what?"

"I've had him under surveillance," Frank said and sighed again. "Davis is an associate of…"

Paul waited. When there was no response, he asked again. "An associate of whom, Frank?"

Strenlich glanced at the floor, cleared his throat, and did everything humanly possible to keep from answering the question directly. "Captain, I don't…"

"Frank?" Blaisdell demanded, his patience wearing thin.

"Davis is an associate of Michael's," Frank answered reluctantly, his eyes slowly rising to meet those of his commander. "Michael Blaisdell."

Paul fixed the man with a hard glare. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Captain," Strenlich began, taking another deep breath before he continued, "the last few days, whenever someone mentioned Michael's name you would…"

"Act like an ass," Blaisdell confessed, completing his friend's sentence. He glanced briefly at Frank, realizing what it must have taken for Strenlich to remain silent concerning Michael. He wondered if Frank had been the only one who had held their tongue. Had he been that obvious, even among all his co-workers?

Well, apologies would have to wait. It was time he dealt with his defiant offspring. Punching a few buttons on the phone, he dialed Kermit's extension. When his estranged friend answered, Paul tried to keep his voice steady. "Kermit, I need both you and Blake in my office immediately."

"We're on our way," Kermit answered and then hung up.

Paul glanced back at Strenlich. "It's time I started acting like a captain instead of a jackass."

The ex-marine just smiled.

There was a sharp knock and then the door opened. Kermit and Blake walked in and shut the door behind them.

Blaisdell glanced at both men, and then spoke to his communications and surveillance expert. "Blake, I need a tracking bug the size of a shirt button, and I want it planted," he paused, studying each man's face before adding, "on my son, Michael."

The detective in question glanced nervously at Kermit, who shrugged. Blake started stammering, "Uh…captain…. I, well, I mean …we,"

"The bug's already planted," Kermit said, interrupting Blake's explanation. He refused to offer any further information.

The room became very quiet.

"Go on," Paul urged, realizing the sudden anxiety in the room could only be eased by him. Already he had apologized to Annie and Kermit, and now he had to mend the bridge between himself and his co-workers. He cleared his throat and demanded an update on his latest order. "What can you tell me about the previous owner?"

The tension in the room quickly evaporated.

"The previous owner, Dex Luther, died mysteriously just hours after he sold the building, along with several warehouses located throughout the city, to Davis. The sale price was suspiciously below market value," Frank reported. "In fact, the annual taxes Luther owed on that property were a lot higher than the price he got for selling it."

"Was he in debt?" Paul asked, searching for an explanation.

"No," Kermit answered and then folded his arms tightly against his chest. "I thought the same thing at first until the credit check I did on him came back. The taxes were paid and up-to-date and Luther had A-1 credit, so he had no reason to sell. The warehouses alone were bringing Luther in a nice little profit from the distributors who were leasing them. If you want my opinion, I'd say the man was forced to sell those warehouses because they were in the perfect location to send and receive merchandise without drawing too much attention. Roger and Nixon must have gotten a little too close and had to be eliminated."

That surprised Blaisdell. "You're saying this is all connected to the cop killings?"

"I'm saying the cop killings are just a smoke screen to throw us off those warehouses and what's stored inside them," Kermit answered. "Now with Epstein being found shot inside that suite, it's too much of a coincidence for us to ignore anymore."

Only hours ago, Paul believed the news about Michael couldn't get any worse. He now realized how wrong he had been. He turned to the communications expert. "Blake, what have you discovered since the bug was planted?"

"Yesterday's surveillance resulted in nothing unusual. I did however write down the address where Michael stayed last night, just in case something came up," Blake said, as he handed the information over to Blaisdell. He hesitated. "I haven't activated the bug for today's surveillance. If you prefer that I don't, I can…"

"Activate it," Paul said, looking at the address. It was located across town, close to a suburb. "I want a search warrant issued for this address, and I want to know the location of every warehouse that Luther owned before he sold them to Davis. After we have that information, I want a search warrant for those locations as well. We're going to find out what's being stored in them."

Kermit reached out, took the piece of paper from Paul's hand, and read the address. "I'll pick up the search warrant and check this place out myself." With those words, the computer genius left the office.

Blake exited as well. Seconds later he returned, carrying a laptop, and Skalany was by his side. The detective opened the computer, turned it on, and then typed in a few commands.

As everyone gathered around watching the small screen, Blake explained what was happening. Suddenly, in a terror-filled voice, he revealed, "Captain, he's at your house!"

"Annie and the girls," Paul whispered. He picked up the phone and dialed his home number. After six rings, he wanted to jump through the phone. He knew that if Annie or his daughters had been able, they would have answered by now. He slammed down the phone and headed out the door. "Frank, get a cruiser over to the house, pronto."

Kelly was on her way out of her bedroom when she heard a car pulling into the driveway. Curious, she pulled the curtain back and peeked outside. Michael was getting out of a rental car.

Alarmed, she rushed out of her room and yelled down the stairs, "Mom! Carolyn!"

Her sister walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. "What's wrong, Kelly?"

"It's Michael. He's just pulled up."

"I'm calling Dad," Carolyn said. She rushed to the small table by the stairs and picked up the phone. She frantically tapped the button several times before dropping the receiver back down. "The line's dead," she said in a panic-filled voice.

"Get Dad's gun," Kelly urged, rushing back down the upstairs hallway in search of something to use as a weapon.

Carolyn hurried to her father's den, but an unknown man stepped out of nowhere and blocked her path. She tried to scream, hoping to warn her stepmother and sister of the intruder's presence, but the man put his hand over her mouth and dragged her to the family room where he roughly threw her onto the sofa.

"Stay there and don't move," he warned, glaring down at her. Another man entered the room, dragging Annie in with him. "Sit her down by the girl," the first man ordered his partner.

Carolyn reached for Annie and guided her down to the sofa. She glared back up at the men and asked, "What do you want?"

"I think that's obvious, isn't it little sister?" Michael stepped into the room swinging a set of keys around on his index finger. He tossed them up in the air, caught them, and then tossed them to Carolyn. "I don't think Peter's going to be needing these anymore."

Annie gasped. "What did you do to Peter?"

Michael walked over to the sofa and yanked Annie to her feet. "Don't worry, you and your precious son are going to be reunited one last time. We seem to be missing someone," he said, looking around the room. Roughly he pulled Annie to the door and yelled, "Kelly, I know you're here. Unless you want Annie with a bullet hole in her head, you better get yourself down here."

Footsteps announced Kelly's arrival as she walked down the stairs, through the hallway, and into the family room. She stopped in front of her brother, stared up at him, and then spit in his face. "Go to hell."

Michael held Annie around the neck with one arm and used his free hand to wipe his face. "That foster brat has been a bad influence on you, baby sister," he said, his eyes flashing fire. "Get over there and sit beside Carolyn."

Kelly slowly walked over to the sofa and Carolyn stood up to meet her. The two sisters held hands and turned back to stare at their brother.

Michael started dragging Annie out the door with him. When she struggled to escape, he jerked her back and hissed in her ear, "I won't hesitate to snap your lovely neck right now Annie, but I would prefer that you're alive when we see Peter."

"What about them?" one of the men asked, indicating Carolyn and Kelly.

"Do what you want to them. It makes no difference to me."

"Why?" Carolyn demanded as the two men started approaching. "We're your sisters. You can't do this."

Michael stopped long enough to shoot his sister an evil glare. "As far as I'm concerned, Carolyn, I'm an only child." With those last words, her brother left, forcing their stepmother to go with him.

"I prefer blonds," one of the men remarked, grinning like some sadistic escapee from a mental ward.

"That leaves the other for me," the man's companion added with the same grin.

Kelly glanced at her sister, and motioned with a brief nod of her head towards the phone sitting on the table beside the sofa. Carolyn reached over and picked up the phone as one of the men grabbed her from behind.

An hour ago, Mary Margaret was convinced that Peter Caine was the world's worst driver. Five minutes in the same car with Paul Blaisdell behind the wheel changed her mind forever.

The captain had run a red light, two stop signs, and had come within inches of running into a ditch. The usual ride to the Blaisdell home normally took twenty minutes, but within eight minutes the captain was out of his car and rushing towards his house.

"Skalany, take the front door. I'm going around back."

She pulled out her pistol and climbed out of the vehicle. A patrol car pulled up beside her and two police officers got out with their guns drawn.

"You two follow Skalany," Paul ordered before disappearing around the side of the house.

Mary Margaret carefully moved to the front door. She waved the two officers behind her and then the three entered the home, slowly making their way down the hallway.

With the front part of the house secured, Mary Margaret silently moved into the family room, ready for anything. The instant her eyes witnessed the two bodies sprawled out on the floor, her hand flew to her mouth. "Captain, you better get in here."


	6. Chapter 6

PAST REGRETS Kaleidopy VI

Annie remained calm, secretly plotting and waiting for the perfect opportunity to make her escape. Next to her in the driver's seat, Michael played the car radio as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He even had the audacity to sing along with some of the songs.

Ten minutes later, she noticed the car was slowing down. Fearful that time had run out, Annie quickly and quietly unbuckled her seat belt. She was prepared for the fight of her life, but the welcome noise of routine traffic congestion eased her mind.

With a renewed sense of hope, she turned her attention to the stench that continued to assault her sinuses: the smell of her stepson's nasty cigar. She waved her hand in front of her face, and faked a cough before asking, "Can I please roll down the window? I need some fresh air." When Michael didn't answer, Annie took a deep breath and then slowly moved her hand towards the car door, searching for the handle.

As the seconds ticked away, her fingertips brushed across the armrest. She felt the two metallic buttons, and wondered which unlocked her door and which controlled the window. Gambling on the idea that the radio was too loud for Michael to notice, she pressed one of the buttons. Nothing happened. Surprised, she wondered if the door was already unlocked.

Touching the other button, Annie pressed it and the window started rolling down, giving her a chance to hear the outside world. A cool breeze caressed her face.

Michael abruptly stopped singing and uttered a loud curse before slamming on the brakes. Within seconds, Annie heard other cars doing the same. Horns honked in obvious aggravation, and she knew there'd been an accident. Her unique hearing picked up an argument coming from the car next to her.

"Jimmy, just shut up," a woman said angrily. "If my mother wants to spend the weekend with us, she can."

"But the game is on this weekend," a man protested. "You know your mother. She'll yak about nothing, especially while I'm trying to watch the ball…"

"That's my mother you're talking about," the female shot back. "If you want to talk about people who talk about nothing, how about those old men who broadcast those games? I don't hear you complaining about them. Talk about yakking! They never shut up, and they get paid for it, too."

"I don't…" his voice trailed off, and then picked back up with urgency. "I wonder why the cops are searching each car. I thought it was a simple accident up there. Was there anything on the radio about an escaped convict?"

"We'll find out soon enough," the woman replied, and then started laughing. "Maybe they found out you hate my mother."

"I don't hate your mother!" the male strongly protested. "Oh, great, now you've done it. Here they come."

The argument quickly abated and Annie realized if she wanted to escape she had to act now. She reached for the door handle, said a silent prayer, and then pulled it open. Michael hadn't felt it necessary to lock her door, apparently believing that because of her blindness she wouldn't be so bold as to make an escape attempt. Underestimating her would be Michael Blaisdell's biggest mistake.

She pushed the door open and jumped out of the vehicle before he even knew what was happening. She immediately started screaming for help, yelling that she had been kidnapped. She heard Michael cursing at her, then the sound of a car hitting metal, quickly followed by glass shattering and tires squealing.

The couple that had been arguing came to Annie's rescue. She recognized the woman's voice before the lady touched her arm. "It's all right. You're safe now," the woman said, pulling Annie into an embrace.

"Did you see that jerk? He deliberately rammed three cars to get away," Jimmy said, and then asked in a concerned voice, "Miss, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm ok," Annie answered, "but I need to speak with an officer. It's a matter of life and death."

"Anyone get the license number or a good description of the kidnapper?" an unfamiliar baritone asked. "I'm Officer Daniels, Miss. Can you tell me anything about the man who kidnapped you?"

"It's Mrs.," Annie smiled as she identified herself, relieved to finally be in safe hands. She then told the officer what had happened.

"Come with me, Mrs. Blaisdell." The officer gently touched her arm and carefully guided her back to his patrol car where he grabbed his radio and called in to his precinct.

Mary Margaret slowly lowered her gun as she walked into the Blaisdells' family room. Astonished, she glanced down at the two unconscious bodies and then at the two young women standing in the middle of the room.

"The house is secured, detective," Kelly declared, and pointed down at one of the unconscious men. "He wasn't so tough. He went down after two kicks." She reached down and untangled the telephone cord from around the leg of an end table. "Carolyn knocked the other one out with this. He never knew what hit him."

Carolyn finished tying the aforementioned man's hands with the telephone cord before she checked on the first man. "This one is starting to come around."

Skalany removed her handcuffs and quickly cuffed the man before he could open his eyes. "Are you two all right?" she asked, turning her attention to the young women.

Before anyone could answer, Blaisdell and the two officers rushed inside with guns drawn.

"Dad, it's Michael," Carolyn said, rushing to her father's waiting arms. She took a second to gather her thoughts before continuing. "He took Annie with him, and he's got Peter, too."

"Your _son_ wanted to kill us," Kelly added, stressing the word 'son' purposely. "Not only did the jerk run like the coward he is, but he took Mom with him because he knows she can't see where he's taking her."

Paul ignored the barb, understanding his youngest daughter's anger. He didn't blame her, especially since he no longer considered Michael his son. After making certain his two daughters were safe, he turned to the now conscious prisoners sitting on his living room floor. "Where are my wife and son? Where did Michael take them?"

Both men glanced at each other before one answered. "We would rather spend the rest of our lives behind bars than to rat on Michael Blaisdell. That man has ways of making people who double-cross him disappear."

"In other words," the second man added with a sneer, "you'll get nothing out of us, pig."

The remark infuriated Blaisdell. "Skalany, get them out of my house and make sure they are read their rights. I don't want these assholes released because of a technicality or some loophole their lawyer will find later."

Mary Margaret signaled one of the officers, and the two escorted the men out of the room. Another officer rushed into the house, asking for the captain. She pointed back down the hallway and called for Blaisdell.

Paul walked out into the hall, and the officer turned to him. "Sir, I just got word from dispatch. I don't know the details, but your wife is safe. A patrol car is bringing her home. They should be here in ten minutes."

"Thanks, Tom," Paul said, relieved that at least one of his missing family members was safe. His mind flashed to his youngest son. He prayed that the bug Blake had planted on Michael would hold up until either Michael was captured or Peter was found alive. He hoped for both.

Michael was furious. Not only were his plans shot to hell, but he was mortified over who had outsmarted him: a simple housewife. The fact that she was blind made it even worse. He would never be able to live that down.

He had made a major mistake by underestimating Annie Blaisdell. He swore to himself that he would never make that mistake again. She was going to die a slow and painful death for all the trouble she had caused him.

He drove the damaged rental car into the parking lot of a crooked car dealership and turned the vehicle over to a dealer he had on his payroll. He had another car in less than five minutes.

Robert Davis double-checked his email on his laptop. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. It had been five hours since he had last heard anything new concerning the weapons shipments. He quickly ran every scenario through his mind trying to think of a reason for the delay in communication. There was no chance the captain had double-crossed them, not after agreeing to Michael's terms that the ship's location had to be reported every hour via email or payment would be forfeited.

No, the fault didn't lie with the captain. It was somewhere else, and he had to find the problem fast because time was running out.

The ship was scheduled to dock at nine tonight, exactly twelve hours from now. Robert could only shake his head in disbelief. Everything was within his and Michael's grasp. How could something go wrong now? Everything had been planned down to the last detail.

A knock on the front door snapped him out of his thoughts. He wasn't expecting anyone, and the only person who knew about the place was Michael and he wasn't exactly the knocking type. He pulled out his gun and made his way to the door. Pulling back the blind, he peeked outside and then tapped on the window to get his visitor's attention. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm not opportunity," the man answered before kicking in the door.

Robert raised his weapon, but it was knocked out of his hand before he had time to fire it.

"I'm only going to ask this question one time. Where's Peter Caine?" Rough hands slammed Robert into the wall, and he found himself staring into a pair of green sunglasses. His attacker hissed, "Either answer the question or I'll entertain myself by finding your tolerance level for pain, and I do hope it's the latter."

Standing inside the front door, Paul anxiously waited for the patrol car carrying Annie to arrive. It had only been ten minutes since he had been told that his wife was safe, but it felt as if it had been a lifetime.

Waiting was not something Paul did well, and he didn't like standing around while Michael was still on the loose. He had already paid a high price for his lack of judgment concerning his son, and he wasn't about to repeat the same mistake twice.

Since his home phone line had to be reconnected, Paul was forced to use Kelly's cellular to call the phone company and the precinct. When Broderick reported that nobody had heard from Kermit, he ordered Strenlich to drive by and pick him up. With Michael's personal vendetta against him, his family, and Griffin, Paul wasn't taking any more chances.

Just as he ended the phone conversation, a patrol car pulled into the driveway with Annie in the back seat. Paul rushed out into the yard and waited until the car came to a stop. Opening the door, he helped Annie out of the vehicle and pulled her into a fierce embrace. Both stood just holding each other, trying to recover from the emotional turmoil the kidnapping had caused.

Annie was the first to break the embrace, pulling out of her husband's arms as she wiped away her tears. "Paul, Michael has Peter and he's going to kill him. He was going to kill me too, but I escaped and…"

"I know," Paul said in a soothing voice. He pulled her back into his arms for a brief moment and then led her inside the house. "Frank's on his way to pick me up. Until Michael is captured, I'm assigning someone to guard the house when I'm not here."

"No!" Annie said emphatically, immediately rejecting her husband's suggestion. Her independence was something she valued immensely and she wasn't about to lose it without a fight. "I can look after myself, Paul. The only reason Michael got into the house in the first place was because he had Peter's keys. We'll change the locks, but that's it. I will not be treated like a helpless victim."

He knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind so he didn't even bother trying.

"The only thing I want, Paul," Annie said, squeezing his arm, "is our son."

"We'll get him back, babe. I promise," he vowed. He heard a knock at the door and released Annie. "I'll see who that is."

"It's Frank," she said with certainty. "I heard his car drive up. He really needs to get that muffler fixed."

He glanced back at her and smiled. She never ceased to amaze him with her remarkable abilities.

Kermit kept the Desert Eagle aimed at the tall man, hoping he would make a move so he would have an excuse to pull the trigger. Robert Davis wasn't your every day, run-of-the-mill bad guy, and wasn't easily intimidated like most common street thugs.

Under different circumstances, Kermit would have almost admired his adversary. But the man standing in front of him was partly responsible for the turmoil in his mentor's life, and payback was going to be sweet. First, Blaisdell's sons had to be found.

"You haven't answered my question," he said in his most menacing voice. "Where's Peter Caine?"

Robert just grinned. "I don't know what you're talking about, cop."

Kermit returned the grin with one more malicious. "Hasn't Michael already told you about me? I'm not a cop; I'm just masquerading as one." He moved closer to the man, the leer never leaving his face. "Did he tell you about the incredible gift I have for getting information out of individuals who won't cooperate? It's remarkable, really. Not once have I failed in those attempts. Now, are you going to tell me where my friend is, or do I have to introduce you to some of my methods?"

For the first time since he had kicked in the door, Kermit noticed a crack in Davis' facade. The cockiness disappeared at the not-so-subtle hint of torture. Apparently Michael had told his associate all about the ex-mercenary's past, and had left nothing to the imagination.

In the back of his mind, Kermit wondered if Michael had also shared that same information with Peter, as he had threatened to do a few days ago. If Peter ever learned the truth about Blaisdell's past, Griffin was convinced it would destroy them both. Blaisdell had gone to great lengths to shield his family from things that happened during his time as a mercenary, and Kermit was determined to help him keep them secret.

As quickly as it had faded, Davis' cockiness returned. "Yeah, Michael told me about your special talents, but they're nothing compared to his old man's, are they?" The unarmed man started laughing. "I don't think that kid in the basement was too impressed with them though. In fact, he turned a few shades of green when Michael told him all about Paul Blaisdell's mercenary days."

He wasn't sure if Davis was telling the truth, but, right now, it didn't matter. By running his mouth, he had inadvertently revealed Peter's location, and, with that slip, had just become expendable. "You should choose your friends more wisely. Your association with Michael is going to be your downfall." With those words, Kermit took the gun and hit him over the head, watching with great satisfaction as Davis fell to the ground.

Stuffing the gun in his belt, Kermit reached down and checked to make sure he wasn't playing possum. Satisfied that he was unconscious, he then rolled him over on his stomach. He pulled out his handcuffs and snapped them around his wrists.

At that precise moment, his cellular started vibrating. He had switched the ringer off so it wouldn't blow his cover. "Griffin," he answered, while keeping a sharp eye on the unconscious man at his feet.

"Kermit, Annie's safe," Paul said, his baritone fading in and out through the poor reception, which was the result of the remote location of Michael's private sanctuary. "Any word on Peter?"

"I've got a good lead," Kermit said, glancing down at Davis' still form before continuing. "I'm pretty sure he's alive. I'll call you back when I find him." He paused, and then asked, "Any news on Michael?"

"Nothing yet. I've got an A.P.B. out on him," Paul replied, the reception becoming stronger as did his demand. "Kermit, if you find him, I want your word…"

"That I won't kill him," Kermit interrupted. He hitched in a sharp breath, understanding why his mentor had made such a request. Michael might be the scum of the earth, but he was still Paul's son, and that alone made everything concerning him unique. "I'll give you my word, Paul," he replied without hesitation, knowing what Blaisdell wanted to hear. In the same breath, he added, "But if Michael forces my hand, I won't hold back. He'll suffer the consequences."

"Frank and I are on our way," Paul said, understanding exactly what Kermit meant. The phone line went dead.

Kermit tucked the cellular back in his pocket, and turned his attention back to the house. He started searching for a door that would lead him down to the basement. Walking into the kitchen, he discovered what he was looking for. He retrieved his weapon, and then cautiously opened the door.

Silently, he crept down the stairs, listening and looking for anything out of the ordinary. A thick, musty odor scented the air, indicating the basement had been closed off for some time.

Amongst the dust littered upon the concrete floor, different sets of freshly made footprints led towards a large sofa and then splintered off in different directions. As he approached the sofa, he found a set of brass knuckles that had been left on one of the cushions. As he reached down to retrieve the metallic object, dark blotches dispersed on the fabric caught his attention. He froze, immediately recognizing them as bloodstains. From the dark color, they appeared to be recent.

Alarmed by the morbid discovery, Kermit frantically began searching for his missing friend. "Peter?" he called out, straining to hear anything that would pinpoint the younger man's location.

Hearing nothing, he fought back the panic that threatened to overtake him. "Peter, answer me if you're down here." Again, only silence greeted him. He carefully studied the room, making certain he wasn't missing anything. Most of the items in the basement were below eye level, which made it easy for him to see that Peter wasn't behind them. The only area left to investigate was the darkest corner of the room.

In that area, several boxes, each a different shape and size, were piled on top of one another, obstructing his view of the concrete wall. Intrigued by the makeshift barrier, he went to investigate.

As he made his way over, he noticed that the thin layer of dust on the floor appeared to have been disturbed, as if something had been dragged over. Several droplets of blood fell alongside the trail.

He muttered a curse, and quickly grabbed one of the boxes stacked on top of the pile and tossed it aside. It allowed him to glance over the stack of boxes, giving him a limited view of what was beyond them.

A black boot was the first thing he saw. "Oh my God!" he said, instantly recognizing the footwear as the Christmas gift Annie and Paul had given Peter only a few months earlier.

He kicked the remainder of the boxes aside, ignoring the fragile labels on some of them. Glass shattered, metal clanged, and dust flew as he cleared a path towards the object of his search.

The obstacles removed, Griffin dropped to his knees and briefly examined the unconscious man. The bruises and cuts all over Peter's face made it clear that the brass knuckles had been used against him. Kermit considered himself an expert with the device, having been on both sides of it in the past. The knuckles were perfect when one wanted information and a little revenge at the same time.

He untied the young man and then tried shaking him awake, careful to cause as little pain as possible. Peter finally started to moan. "Peter?" he said, touching his friend's shoulder as his hazel eyes slowly opened.

Confused and disoriented, Peter tried to pull away in an effort to defend himself from what he believed to be another beating.

"Easy, Peter," Kermit said softly. "It's just me."

Peter took a deep breath and nodded in understanding.

"Can you stand?" Kermit asked, offering his hand to assist the young man.

"Kermit, you've got to get out of here and warn Paul," Peter said, ignoring the hand in front of him. He hitched in a sharp breath. "Michael," he hissed painfully, "he's after Mom, and…"

"Annie's safe, kid," Kermit said, helping Peter to his feet.

Peter looked at him with suspicion.

"I said she's safe, Peter," he repeated in a harder tone, "and I resent the implication that I would lie to you about something like that."

Remorse and then relief flooded Peter's features. Just as quickly, the worried expression returned. "Eppy? You didn't say anything about him."

"Your loud mouth friend is alive," Kermit said. "He took a bullet in the shoulder and lost some blood, but other than that the doctor said he would be fine." He pulled out Peter's Beretta that he had tucked inside his belt. "Here, take this in case we run into trouble."

Peter took the weapon, smiling like someone who had been reunited with a long lost friend. "Where did you find it?"

"When the paramedics found Epstein, they also found your gun."

Peter checked his gun, making sure the weapon had ammunition. Satisfied, he started for the stairs.

Kermit reached out and grabbed his arm. "Not so fast, my impatient friend."

"What?" Peter snapped, and pulled himself free. "I don't have time to argue with you, Kermit. We got bad guys to catch, and…"

"In case you haven't realized it," Kermit said angrily, "you can barely stand. How do you expect to defend yourself?"

"Like I always do," Peter answered with a grin, but the pain was evident in his voice.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Kermit muttered. His friend's charade didn't fool him, but getting Peter to listen to reason was harder than getting Hollywood to vote Republican. He held up his weapon. "Just so you know the rules, the big gun leads this parade. Understand?"

"What ever you say, Master of Ceremonies."

Kermit glared at him and then climbed the stairs. He led the way through the house and checked to make sure that Davis was still unconscious. Satisfied, he glanced at Peter and commented, "Michael's little buddy."

Peter touched the side of his face and winced. "Gilligan, he's not."

"Well, he won't be stranded on any uncharted island paradise anytime soon," Kermit said matter-of-factly. He moved to the front door and opened it. Chilly morning air rushed in, hitting him square in the face. He shivered momentarily, and then stepped outside. "Let's get out of here. Paul's sending someone to pick up Sleeping Beauty over there."

As he trekked through the wet grass, droplets of water sprayed on his pants, evidence of last night's rain. Fog rolled in from the woods.

"Uh, Kermit, did you forget where you parked the car?" Peter asked as the older man started walking down the long dirt driveway.

"Driving the Kermitmobile up to Michael's front door wasn't my idea of gaining the element of surprise," Kermit answered. "She's parked about a mile off the side of the main road, safely hidden inside a grove of trees. Not just anyone can touch my car."

"You're starting to worry me, Kermit," Peter said, as he tried to keep pace with the other detective.

Kermit smiled to himself, but said nothing. His reputation had taken on a life of its own thanks to the over-active imaginations of some of his co-workers. His moment of amusement was short-lived. Something started nagging at him, and he realized he heard footsteps. Instinct kicked in. He pulled out his gun and turned around, only to find Peter lagging behind.

"I just need to catch my breath," Peter explained, holding up a shaky hand.

Kermit walked back to his friend, mentally slapping himself for forgetting about his injuries. With Peter's ego and stubbornness, he never would have asked for assistance. Kermit wrapped his arm around the younger man's waist. "Come on," he said, and the two started walking again. "The car isn't much further."

As they approached the Corvair, the fog thickened. "There must be a lake around here," Peter surmised.

"There is," a chilling voice replied. Michael appeared from behind the back of the car with gun in hand. "And it's a perfect place to dump a couple of bodies."

Usually Michael despised the damp foggy weather that now surrounded him, but today, he worshipped it. Not only had it helped conceal his car from those searching for him, but it had more importantly allowed him the perfect opportunity to gain the advantage over his hated adversary.

Too occupied with Peter's well being, Kermit had uncharacteristically dropped his guard, oblivious to anything or anyone around him. It was a rare mistake, and one that would prove deadly.

"So much for the seasoned professional you claimed to be, Kermit," Michael said, tightening his grip on the gun as he approached the two men. He kept the weapon pointed at Griffin, wanting to keep the unpredictable man in his sight. "It's too bad that the second my father had you de-fanged, you became a shadow of your former self."

"Unfortunately, you're still the same ass you always were," Kermit countered, and then stepped forward, attempting to keep Michael's attention divided between the two men. "You want to end this, Michael?" Griffin snarled. "Tthen let's do it. Mercenary rules."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding!" Michael replied, laughing at the absurd suggestion. "And waste this perfect opportunity to blow you away. I don't think so. Now be the good dog my father trained you to be and toss that weapon of yours away."

Kermit slipped his hand inside his jacket and slowly pulled out the Desert Eagle but he refused to discard the weapon.

"I said throw it away!" Michael screamed, his hatred for the man intensifying. "I'm through with living in your shadow, and constantly being reminded that you're the son my father always wanted. Those days are over." His hand started sweating, and he tightened his grip on the gun to maintain control of it. "Now, you can either do as I say, or I'll start shooting body parts off you until you do."

A few seconds passed before Kermit tossed the weapon away. The sunglasses stared back at him in defiance.

"I've waited years for this moment," Michael said, grinning as he aimed the gun at his long-time enemy. Ridding himself of his albatross was an enormous victory, and watching Kermit die would be the icing on the cake. "Take the glasses off, Griffin. I want to see the look on your face just before I kill you."

"Drop the gun, Michael," Peter commanded, interrupting the standoff. The words were slurred, but sounded aggressive nonetheless. "I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Detective Nixon and the attempted murder of Detective Chin."

"Really? And what if I refuse?" Michael asked, taunting the younger man. "What will you do? Shoot me?"

"Only if you force me to make that decision," Peter warned, pulling out the Beretta to make his point. "You almost killed a friend of mine, _you_ tried to turn Paul against Kermit, and _you_ threatened my mother. Now, for the last time, drop your weapon and raise your hands."

"You can't even stand up straight, Peter, so don't make threats with you can't back up," Michael said, convinced his foster brother was bluffing. Peter would never shoot him, especially if it meant endangering the relationship he had with their father. He took a step in Peter's direction, daring the younger man to back up the threat. "I've heard that you're fast with that toy of yours, but do you have the guts to pull the trigger?"

The hesitation in the hazel eyes told Michael everything he needed to know, but Peter's refusal to back down was costing him precious time. In just a few hours, the cargo ship would arrive and unless he was there to meet his contact, he would forfeit a fortune.

"Why don't you ask me that question?" Kermit asked, his menacing tone interrupted Michael's train of thought.

"Say goodbye, Griffin," he shouted, and aimed the weapon at Kermit. Before he could pull the trigger, a shot was fired. The gun flew out of his hand and hit the ground with a loud thump. Shocked, he looked up in disbelief, surprised that Peter had actually shot at him. "It seems I underestimated you, brat," he hissed through gritted teeth, and reached down to pick up the weapon.

"Don't force me to shoot you, Michael," Peter pleaded as his brother picked up the weapon.

"Unless I'm faster, you don't have a choice," he taunted, as his finger curled around the trigger. "Either way, the old man is going to be grieving over a dead son tonight?"

"I don't think so."

Confused, Michael tried identifying the voice, but before he could make the connection something sharp struck his hand, breaking his concentration. A pain-filled scream escaped his lips, piercing the morning air as he fell to his knees cradling his injured hand protectively against his chest. The gun tumbled out of his grip and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

The distraction gave Kermit the opportunity to grab the Desert Eagle, and aim it at Michael while he rushed to Peter's side.

"You all right?" Kermit asked, and waited until Peter acknowledged his answer before he commented, "I never saw you fire the gun."

"I…I didn't," Peter confessed, shocking everyone with the truth. "I don't know where the shot came from."

"Just say you two have a guardian angel," Strenlich said, walking into view.

"It took you long enough," Kermit declared, stuffing his weapon inside his belt. Sirens screamed in the distance, announcing approaching police cruisers. "Frank, have a few of the suits check inside the house. Someone's taking a nap, and it would be rude of me to disturb them."

"More like, you put them in that state," Frank said in an accusing tone. When Griffin didn't respond, he turned his attention to Peter who only shrugged. With a disgruntled sigh, Strenlich ordered three officers inside the house to retrieve the prisoner Kermit had mentioned.

Michael seized the opportunity to search for his weapon. He found the gun lying in the wet grass, a few inches away from his hand. He reached out to pick it up, but before he could a black shoe stepped on it.

Surprised, Michael glanced up, and stared up into the face of the last person he expected. "Dad," he cried, seeing a weapon in his father's hand pointed directly at him. "You'd shoot your own son?"

"No, I shot you to prevent you from killing my son," Paul said, kicking the gun out of Michael's reach. Strenlich picked up the gun as Paul pulled out a set of cuffs and threw them down to his son. "Put them on."

Michael glanced down at the handcuffs, and then glared defiantly up at his father.

"I said, put them on," Paul repeated angrily. When Michael hesitated, Paul turned to Strenlich. "Arrest him, Frank. He's charged with two counts of murder, three counts of attempted murder, assault on three police officers, two counts of kidnapping, and anything else I can come up with later "

Strenlich reached down and picked up the cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent," he said, beginning to recite the Miranda warning as he handcuffed the younger man.

"Don't waste your breath, Chiefy," Michael said, interrupting Strenlich by speaking louder. He knew the routine and had no desire to hear it repeated. He turned to his father, determined to rub salt into the old man's open wounds. "How can you live with yourself knowing you sent your own son to prison? Especially knowing what Kermit did to me?"

Blaisdell approached Michael, fighting back the urge to display any emotion. "My oldest son was killed eighteen years, seven months and twenty-four days ago," Paul said, as both locked eyes. His voice turned hostile. "You, I don't know." He turned to Frank and commanded, "Get him out of my sight."

Michael glared right back. "Enjoy your little victory, old man. It won't last long. I swear it."

"I've been waiting a long time to say this. Shut yer trap," Frank said, taking the prisoner to a waiting police cruiser. An officer opened the back door, and stepped aside as Strenlich roughly forced Michael inside.

The door slammed shut, and Michael could only stare out the window, watching with intense hatred as his father turned his attention towards Peter. He couldn't hear the words that were spoken, but it was apparent that his father was concerned over the injuries that had been inflected on the younger man.

When the blue eyes pierced him, Michael felt a brief moment of fright. He believed Paul Blaisdell actually wanted him dead. He could feel it. He turned away from the scene and looked down at the floorboard until a tap on the window got his attention.

"There's a nice place waiting for you and your friend," Kermit said, pointing at the unconscious Robert Davis who had been placed inside next to Michael. "I'm sure you remember the accommodations. The rent's good but the food's not."

Michael bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood. "This isn't over, not by a long shot."

"Just keep that thought," Kermit said, grinning back at him. "Considering the dark, lonely nights facing you in the very near future, it's the only thing you've got left in your miserable life."


	7. Chapter 7

**PAST REGRETS**

Kaleidopy

**VII**

Epilog

A rookie guard opened the cell door and waited nervously as Michael and Robert took their time entering the cell. The door slammed shut behind them and the guard quickly locked it.

Michael wasted no time issuing demands. "I'm allowed one phone call," he hissed, gripping the bars with both hands. "Where's my legal counsel? You're denying me my rights."

The young guard raised both hands in the air, trying unsuccessfully to silence the prisoner.

"I'll have your badge, cop," Michael shouted, enjoying the disruption he was causing. Those that had a part in his capture would remember his stay for years to come. "Unless I get my phone call, I'm going to sue you and the rest of this police force."

Broderick rushed down the stairs, glaring at the two prisoners before he issued an order to the rookie. "Williams, go upstairs and make sure their papers are filed correctly."

"Yes sir," the guard replied, and then went upstairs.

Broderick folded his arms, and stared at the tall prisoner. "What I wouldn't give for two minutes alone with you."

"Well, I'm shocked, I didn't think you were that type of guy, Sarge," Michael said, grinning at the desk sergeant. Broderick had enjoyed booking him and Davis into the holding cell. In fact, the man had gone out of his way to deliberately stretch the fingerprinting process, and now Michael was just as determined to return the favor.

"If your last name wasn't Blaisdell, I'd…"

"Oh, you're scaring me," Michael said, interrupting the threat. "Now open this door and let me make my phone call."

Broderick angrily unhooked the keys from his belt. "Step away from the door," he ordered, and then waited until Michael retreated a few steps before he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.

Michael took his time walking out of the cell, deliberately swaggering just to aggravate the officer. "I want a satellite television in here when I return."

"Shut up, wise guy," Broderick said, slamming the door behind him, and then relocked it. "Give me your hands."

Michael held out his hands, and allowed the handcuffs to be placed around his wrist.

Broderick turned him around and guided him towards the stairs. "Stay in front of me so I can keep my eye on you."

"Like the view back there?" Michael asked, deliberately taunting the man. He smiled when the desk sergeant muttered a curse as they walked up the steps and through the door to the front desk.

His good humor died the second he saw Kermit and his father standing by the front desk watching him, obviously expecting him. In an angered voice, he asked, "Here to gloat?"

"I never gloat," Kermit declared. "I get even."

Paul shoved the phone in Michael's direction. "You have two minutes. Make your call."

Michael held up his handcuffed wrists, and asked sarcastically, "What do you expect me to dial with, my nose?"

His father snapped his fingers, and Broderick stepped forward and unlocked the cuffs.

"Make it quick," Paul said harshly. "Call your lawyer and then get out of my sight."

"Who said I was calling my lawyer?" Michael asked, glaring at his father before he picked up the phone and dialed a long distance number. "It's collect," he said, watching everyone carefully as he waited for the connection to be made. "Hello, is Joyce Matheson home?" He savored the shocked reaction on his father's face when he said his mother's name.

Before he could enjoy the moment, a voice came back on the line. "I'm sorry sir, but Mrs. Matheson is busy at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Damn. That hadn't been planned. "Well, give her this message," he said, knowing it would be delivered once he revealed his identity. "Tell her that Michael called and that I'm in jail." He paused, looking at his father before continuing, "Paul Blaisdell's precinct. She'll know what to do. Bye." He hung up the phone, smiling at the scene he had just created, and turned to Broderick as he held up his hands to be handcuffed. "Take me back downstairs."

Kermit waited until Michael was gone before he asked, "Joyce married Matheson?"

"It's not important, Kermit. Michael's behind bars and this nightmare can now be put behind us," Paul said, walking out of the precinct, making it clear that he wasn't going to discuss the subject any further. He made his way across the parking lot and started to get into his car, but Kermit stopped him.

"She married Matheson? Even after she..."

"Ex-wife, that's all she is to me," Paul snapped, stopping the conversation before it started. He climbed inside the car, shut the door behind him, and then looked up at his friend. "She's the mother of three of my children, but the world would be better off if she were six feet under."

Peter changed out of the hospital gown and into his streets clothes. He had taken refuge in the bathroom when Mary Johnson, the lab technician, came to get another blood sample. Tired of waiting for her patient, she informed him that she would be back in twenty minutes. That was long enough for Peter to make his escape.

He opened the door and stuck his head out to see if the coast was clear. Several nurses were working around the nurses' station, blocking his planned escape attempt. He quickly shut the door, and started pacing the room trying to figure out another plan. A magazine hit him in the face. "Eppy, cut it out," he said, before picking up the magazine and angrily tossing it on the empty bed.

"I don't know why you got an attitude. You're outta here," Epstein shot back as he tried to get comfortable without moving his right shoulder. With an evil glee in his eye, he added, "That is after that wonderful nurse gets through giving you a goodbye present."

"Wonderful nurse?" Peter said, keeping his voice low. "She claimed she got her degree in the nursing, but I'm willing to bet she majored in dart throwing." He went back to the door, looked out, and then declared, "I want out of here before she comes back."

"Stop your whining, you're not the one with a bullet hole in the shoulder."

"If you hadn't been following me, you wouldn't be here," Peter said, walking to the foot of Epstein's bed. He stared with amusement at his former partner, realizing for once Epstein wasn't the one in charge. The tables had finally turned in his favor and Peter tried unsuccessfully to hide the grin on his face. This was going to be fun. "In fact, how many Eppy rules did we break? Three? Four? Let's see if I remember correctly, rule number 48, never sneak up on a partner who has his..."

"That's rule number 78 and as usual you got it wrong. It's never sneak up on a partner who has a nervous trigger finger," Epstein said, and then grabbed the cord to the call button. "You forgot the most important rule to live by, rule number 81."

Peter's eyes widened, remembering that rule all too well. The payback rule. "You wouldn't!"

"I would and I am," Epstein said, grinning as he pressed the button. Instantly a female voice answered, asking what he needed. "Please tell Nurse Johnson that Mr. Caine is waiting for her. Thank you."

Chained to his seat, and locked inside a white police van, Michael stared out the window, watching the steady stream of concrete buildings pass him by on the way to the courthouse. In less than an hour he was due for arraignment, and he had no desire to speed up the process.

He leaned his aching head back against his seat, trying to dull the pain brought on from the previous night's sleeping arrangements. It was bad enough that he had been locked inside a cell and forced to sleep on an uncomfortable mattress where broken springs kept popping him in the back, but sharing the same cell with common drunks and druggies was undignified.

Only when a self-proclaimed innocent individual was thrown in the mix and started screaming obscenities did he take matters into his own hands. With a quick snap of the neck, the man's last sounds had been a muttered scream. Silencing the idiot did nothing to improve his mood. He swore he would get revenge on all those responsible for locking him behind bars again.

A siren caught his attention, and within seconds the flashing lights of a police cruiser appeared behind the van. The driver of the van slowly pulled off to the side of the road and waited. Seconds later, a police officer emerged from the cruiser and cautiously walked up to the van. With a wave of his hand, the officer signaled for the driver to roll down the window.

"Sorry to do this to you," the policeman explained, once the order was obeyed, "but headquarters received a tip that someone might try to help the prisoners escape. We are changing the route just to be on the safe side. If you would follow us, we'll make sure the prisoners get to court on time."

Michael glanced to his right, but Robert just shrugged at him. Michael shook his head and returned to staring out at the window. Moments later, as the scenery changed from concrete buildings to trees and woods, his curiosity got the better of him. Confused, he wondered why they were taking the long, scenic route when the ride to the courthouse was only fifteen minutes.

The patrol car pulled onto an insolated dirt road, and the van followed obediently for several miles. Michael started to worry. This was the perfect place for an ambush. Perhaps one of his many clients had decided to double cross him while he was vulnerable.

"Uh Mike?"

"Quiet," Michael hissed at his companion. Robert was on edge, apparently his friend felt the same uneasiness as he did. Before he could plan his next move, the police cruiser came to a complete stop. The van's driver slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the vehicle in front of him. Both passengers in the front seat cursed out loud.

"What's that idiot doing?" the driver shouted as he unbuckled his seat belt. He turned to the guard sitting in the passenger's seat. "Simpson, I'm going to see what's going on. You stay here and guard the prisoners."

The driver got out of the van, and slowly approached the police car. Surprisingly, when the back door opened, the driver got into the car and the door closed behind him.

Simpson, who had been riding shotgun, muttered, "I don't like the looks of this." He picked up the radio, but before he could speak to the dispatcher, the police car's back door opened and a man wearing a SWAT uniform climbed out of the car.

Simpson released a sigh of relief, returned the receiver to its location, and then opened the van's door. He stepped out and spoke to the SWAT officer. "Commander Stiles, I'm sorry sir. I didn't know it was you."

Stiles? Stiles. Michael tried remembering where he had heard that name before, and within seconds he had his answer. Bartlett Stiles. He elbowed his partner and whispered, "I think our luck just changed."

Outside, Bartlett Stiles pulled out his gun and shot Simpson in the head. "Sorry, but business is business. I hope there's no hard feelings," he said before checking on his victim. Satisfied that the man was dead, Stiles signaled back to the police car and instantly another shot was heard. He reached down and retrieved the keys from Simpson's pocket.

"You know that guy?" Robert asked, watching nervously as Stiles slowly approached the van.

The van's side door open before Michael could answer, and the SWAT Commander stuck his head inside. Stiles stared at both men before asking, "Michael Blaisdell?"

Michael returned the stare, still suspicious of Stile's motives. "What's it to you?"

"One-hundred thousand dollars to be exact," Stiles answered, and then tossed a set of keys to him.

Michael caught the keys and quickly searched through them until he found the one that unlocked the handcuffs. Once free, he unfastened the shackles around his ankles and did the same for Robert. Both climbed out of the van and waited on Stiles' next move.

"I've got a bag in the patrol car with a set of clothes for each of you," Stiles said, walking back to the police car. As the SWAT commander approached, an arm reached out from inside the car and gave him a black leather bag. He turned back and tossed the bag at Michael. "There's also two plane tickets to Paris, fake passports and an overseas bank account, all complements of Joyce Matheson."

"What did I tell you, Robert," Michael said, slapping Davis across the back as they walked towards the police car. "Mom came through."

A man climbed out of the car, pulled the dead body of the van driver out with him, and started to drag it back to the van.

"Gentlemen, I hope you realize that you will be blamed for this little ambush," Stiles said, indicating the two dead police officers. "This escape attempt will get national coverage, so I suggest that unless you want to find yourself on death row, you disappear fast."

Michael took a step towards the police car, but Stiles grabbed his arm.

"We need to talk," Stiles said. He glanced at Davis. "Alone."

"I can take a hint," Robert replied. He walked to the car and waited, clearly annoyed at being dismissed so easily.

"Michael, there's a little matter of you owing me," Stiles said. "I didn't risk my career because of your mother's generosity. Someday, I may be in need of your services. Since we both have no love for your father, I'm sure we can work something out."

"And that, Commander, will be my pleasure," Michael answered with a laugh. "You have no idea how much I want to pay my father and his little family another social visit."

"Not for at least a few months. In fact, your mother believes it would be safer if you stayed away for a year," Stiles suggested as they got inside the car. "You two need to make yourselves scarce, very scarce."

They drove to an abandoned building where a black limousine was parked inside. As they existed the car, Stiles moved to the limousine. "This will take you to a private runway where a plane is fueled and ready." He shook Michael's hand and said, "Have a good trip."

As Stiles' car drove away, Michael and Robert stood alone with the limousine driver, who quickly opened the vehicle's door. "Gentlemen," the driver said, moving aside in order to allow his passengers to enter. Once inside, the door closed behind them.

Michael waited until the vehicle pulled away before he switched on the television set and started to change into the clothes that was inside the leather bag.

"Well Robert," he announced smugly, "I always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower."

The End ?


End file.
